


Consign Me Not To Darkness

by lettersfromzedelghem



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 80,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromzedelghem/pseuds/lettersfromzedelghem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years of service and leadership in the London Brotherhood had given you great strength. Twenty years of marriage to Jacob Frye had bestowed you with patience and empathy. But there were some things that no amount of time could prepare you for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I typically shy away from notes at the beginning of a story but for this one I feel they’re necessary. Parts of this story describe the details of the murder scenes of the Ripper’s victims. I used information from official police reports and crime scene photos from 1888 rather than keeping things tame by glossing them over and having the women conveniently covered by a sheet like they were in the DLC. With that said, the descriptions of the state of the bodies is purely factual. I mean no disrespect to the deceased. I’d also like this to serve as a warning for anyone who is sensitive to gore and the mutilation of bodies. I did my best to present things as artfully as I could and some details were left out for the sake of comfort and brevity.
> 
> On a lighter note, this fic has an accompanying 8tracks mix which can be listened to [here](http://8tracks.com/theimpetuousbrother/consign-me-not-to-darkness), if you so desire.

It was difficult to tell, you thought to yourself while you stared down at the body of Mary Ann Nichols as she was gently wrapped up into a sheet, how long ago the seeds of malice had been sown within Jack the Lad’s mind and left to grow into a thorny, poisonous vine that choked out what little goodness he’d had left within him. How long had he been plotting and planning to lash out like a viper, to bite the hand that had shown him kindness and given him a way to rise above the status of a nutter from Lambeth Asylum? A year? Two years? Ten? Perhaps it was better not to know.

You were jerked from your grim thoughts as a gentle hand gripped your elbow and pulled you aside. When you turned your head away from Mary as a group of four bobbies lifted her corpse and loaded it into the back of a cart, your eyes met with those of your husband. Jacob looked tired and heartsick.

“The physician concluded that, despite the injuries to her abdomen, her throat being cut is what killed her. He flayed her neck open clear to the vertebrae. She died quickly,” he muttered, a poor offering of consolation but the best that he could do given the loss of a Sister. You nodded and brought a hand up to gently touch the fine wrinkles at the corner of his eye, standing up on your toes to kiss his forehead.

“Mary served us fiercely for ten years. We’ll arrange to have a memorial made for her in our halls.”

Jacob nodded, mouth opening to reply but he stopped short as his attention shifted to something behind you. He schooled his expression into utter neutrality but you heard the heavy sigh that came through his nostrils.

“Abberline is here. He looks decidedly unhappy.”

“Yes, well, being dragged out to Whitechapel at half four in the morning with reports of a murdered woman has that effect on most people.”

Jacob huffed in dry amusement as you turned about to face the inspector who did indeed look like  _he_ would murder someone next. His gaze swept over the blocked off area where the body had been found, then to the wrapped up figure of Mary’s body, and then to the pair of you. You heard Jacob make a low noise of warning, like a student caught horsing around during lessons, as the inspector frowned deeply and marched over straight away, a finger already waggling at Jacob.

“This had better not be your doing, Jacob Frye, or _so help me_ —”

“Good morning to you, too, Freddy,” Jacob replied with theatrical cheer, but there was a sharp edge of irritation in his expression. “Care to gather ‘round the corpse cart with us? Perhaps share stories of our younger days?”

The older man stopped and gave Jacob an immensely sour look, chest puffing up as he prepared to launch into a tirade.

“We were friends with the victim,” you cut in, voice soft and placating as you gingerly moved to stand between the two men. “She was...a member of our Brotherhood, inspector.”

That got Freddy’s attention. The furrow of his brow softened into one of concern rather than annoyance. He looked over his shoulder to ensure that no one else was within earshot before he responded.

“Was this the work of the...uhm, the Templars, I remember you called them. Do I need to inform my men to be on the lookout for any of their funny business?”

“No,” you said at once with a shake of your head, casting Jacob a stern look at his huffing, mocking scoff. “There are very, very few Templars left in London and they do their best to keep out of our sights. There’s no need to raise the alarm.”

Freddy nodded and looked around as the corpse cart creaked and shifted as it began to pull away down the street. When he faced the pair of you again, he had a more knowing expression on his face.

“A common street thug isn’t capable of killing an individual possessing your...talents. I’ve learned that much over the years. Who, then, is responsible?”

“I don’t know, Freddy,” Jacob said softly, sadly.

He was lying. Of course Jacob was aware of who the culprit was, as were you. Jack had been running rampant all summer, causing violence to spike in Whitechapel and amassing his own supporters from Rooks stolen right out from under Jacob’s nose. The borough had become overrun with his gang and their own brand of depravity, which was run by the rogue Assassin from behind the scenes.

You hadn’t actually seen Jack in person since his last summoning to the Council clear back in March. He had been belligerent and foul tempered about not being allowed to pursue his own targets at his leisure. He had wanted to be given free reign wipe out the Templar threat, not just in London but in the entirety of England and Scotland. To enact revenge for his mother and the time he had spent in Lambeth as a boy. Jacob had denied the request at once, scolding Jack for expecting to receive the Brotherhood’s blessing for such a reckless mission. That seemed to have been the final straw for Jack the Lad; he had stormed across the room and right up to his Mentor, bellowing with such ferocity that you’d laid a hand upon your pistol beneath your overcoat, ready to defend Jacob should it come to that. The young man had cursed Jacob up and down, accused him of being a hypocrite and an old, useless man who cared nothing for his own and never had. That he did nothing but stand in Jack’s way, preventing him from reaching his potential. He had left in a thunderous fit, then, giving no respectful bow before departing.

When you summoned him again a few weeks later to discuss his behavior and decide upon punishment, he had not shown. Even more concerning, none of the other Initiates had been able to find him and drag him in to be reprimanded and put on restricted service. For a short while it seemed as if he had left England altogether...at least until Whitechapel fell into chaos and a new gang sprang up overnight under the leadership of Jack the Lad. It was obvious that he was acting out to get a rise from Jacob and the Brotherhood and so you simply sent Initiates to keep his activities confined to the single borough and dispose of the worst of his thugs. Still, Jacob and you had been afraid that Jack would do something rash. Something to up the ante and force Jacob to retaliate with violence on his own part. It seemed that he’d finally found that something.

Regardless of their role in enforcing the laws in London, Abberline and the rest of Scotland Yard did not need to know what had been going on behind the scenes. Disclosing Jack’s identity as an Assassin — as someone trained by Jacob and yourself, no less — would be in direct violation of the Creed. This was a matter that would be handled internally, no matter how much Freddy or anyone else from Scotland Yard pried and questioned. You liked Abberline, very much so, but your loyalty lay elsewhere and so you remained silent.

_What could Abberline possibly hope to accomplish against Jack when we, his teachers and superiors, cannot control him?_

The dark thought made you close your eyes and sigh. Jack had finally shown his true colors and you knew that he was far from finished. It made you worried, and angry, but most of all utterly heartbroken. He had shown so much potential in his youth and now it seemed all of his training and the love and acceptance he’d been given had been for naught.

Eight days later, you were awoken at half seven in the morning by a pounding on the front door of the manor. Jacob had startled awake when you sprang out of bed and he trailed behind you, groggy and grumbling about giving whoever was at the door a good thrashing. By the time you’d thrown on your dressing gown, tucked your pistol into its inner pocket and descended the stairs, the front door had been answered by one of the evening guards. Frederick Abberline stood on the front step, looking grave as his attention shifted to you when you approached and wasted no time with greetings as he spoke.

“I need you and Jacob to come to the hospital with me. We found another body an hour and a half ago in Whitechapel. She was...gutted, for lack of more eloquent phrasing. I need to know if she was also a friend of yours.”

When you stepped aside to allow Freddy inside to wait, you turned and saw Jacob at the foot of the stairs. Though he’d just woken up, he looked drawn and exhausted as Abberline’s words sunk in. The pair of you said nothing as you retreated upstairs and dressed.

Emmett and Alma were both awake and lingering near the top of the stairs when you and Jacob stepped out of your room. They were still in their pajamas and stockings, dark hair mussed from sleep and looking worried and wary of the inspector who was still at the front door.

“What’s going on?” Emmett asked with a furrow of his thick brows, the expression a spitting image of his father’s own scowl.

“Mister Abberline needs our help with something very important. We won’t be out long,” Jacob said as he shrugged his coat on and then reached out to rest a big hand on each of the children’s shoulders with a faint smile. Alma returned his smile but Emmett remained skeptical. “We’ll bring home something from the market for you two for breakfast. You can go back to bed if you want but if you do stay up, behave while we’re gone, please. Absolutely no leaving this house.”

“Yes, father,” Alma and Emmett chimed in near unison. They gave you each a hug and then turned and made their way back towards their bedrooms on the other end of the manor.

You turned to leave down the stairs but when Jacob didn’t move, you looked back to find him staring after the children with a tight, worried expression. When he noticed your gaze, he effectively shuttered it and hurried to follow after you.

 

The morgue was chilly and quiet, the only other presence being a guard outside the door to keep any tenacious journalists or photographers from sneaking inside. Freddy let the pair of you pass by before he closed the door firmly behind himself. He led the way past several tables occupied with sheet covered bodies until you came to the last one in the back of the room. Jacob came to a halt and when you did the same, the inspector looked at each of you as if gauging your readiness to see the corpse.

“Shall I?” Freddy asked, hands gripping the extra sheet that hung down over the edge of the table. You nodded slightly and furrowed your brows, bracing yourself for the worst.

When Abberline folded back the sheet to expose the woman’s face and neck, you felt Jacob sway slightly at your side and breath a soft, desperate _no_. Though her skin looked cold and had a grey hue to it, Annie Chapman’s face was still recognizable. She had been with you since before Jacob and you had ever married, starting as a Rook before expressing desire to join your ranks in the Brotherhood. She had helped watch your children when they had been little, watched over them when you and Jacob were away. Jacob had loved her. You had loved her. The loss of someone so loyal and convinced that what she did was right and just was unbearable. You had to look away, towards the far wall before you lost your fragile hold on your emotions.

“Are you familiar with her?”

Jacob gave a single, tight nod but said nothing.

“Her name is Annie Chapman,” you sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “What did the doctor have to say about her physical state when she was found?”

“The inspecting physician concluded that the cause of death was severe dissevering of the throat, as with Miss Nichols,” Freddy said at length. “All other mutilation was done postmortem. We didn’t find her missing organs anywhere at or near the scene of the murder.”

You whipped your head around to look at Freddy sharply, brows raised.

“ _Pardon_? Missing...she’s missing organs?”

The older man came to stand beside the two of you, heaving a sigh and motioning towards the lower portion of Annie’s belly.

“The physician discovered that her uterus was missing along with other organs in the pelvic region.”

When you looked back to Jacob, his face had gone a tad pale. For a moment you believed he might rip the sheet away from Annie’s body to see the extent of the damage for himself. You were poised to stop him if he tried, but he only closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again.

“Where did you find her?”

Jacob asked faintly and without taking his gaze off of Annie’s mangled neck. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the inspector shift uncomfortably. He clearly wanted to ask Jacob what in the world was going on, who was killing people that were supposed to be nigh untouchable, but he held it in and instead answered Jacob’s question.

“A Mister John Davis of 29 Hanbury Street found her. He was on his way out to work and came across her body in the back yard of the building a tad before six o’clock,” Freddy explained in a matter of fact tone, like he was going back over all the notes he’d likely taken earlier at the scene. “We spoke to all the residents of the building and have an eyewitness who is convinced that she saw Miss Chapman with a man half an hour before she was found, and one other who believes he might have heard her shout while being attacked, but…”

“You’ve not found the man she was with,” you finished quietly. The inspector looked faintly apologetic as he shook his head and sighed.

“I’m afraid not. Whoever this killer is...they know their way around a blade and human anatomy. That’s as much as we have to work with right now. Some think it might be a failed medical student, or even a surgeon, but we’ve not had any reports of hospitals in the city having trouble with their doctors turning into butchers. We’ve also considered it might _actually be_ a butcher with some sort of mental...Jacob, are you listening?”

While you had been taking in the older man’s words and mulling them over, Jacob had seemingly closed himself off from the world at large. He was simply looking at Annie, hands hanging limply at his sides. There wasn’t a single thing about him that signaled he’d heard anything Abberline had spouted. It made your stomach twist unpleasantly and you moved to stand in between Freddy and your husband.

“Give him a moment,” you said softly, taking the inspector by the elbow and leading him a decent distance from the table. Freddy let you lead him away but when you finally stopped he leaned in with a firm, unhappy expression.

“The press is having a field day,” Abberline whispered darkly. “I’ve heard nothing but wild speculation and disgusting rumors about a man, a Polish-Jewish bootmaker, that they’re calling Leather Apron. _Leather Apron_ , of all the ridiculous things. Everyone’s convinced that he’s the killer but I sincerely doubt it. It’s nothing but prejudiced drivel.”

That alarmed you. An innocent man taking the fall for Jack’s deeds and being persecuted by his peers in a type of vigilante justice would tarnish the Brotherhood even further. You served the public, the innocent. You didn’t drag them into harm’s way or allow them to be blamed for such horrific crimes.

“Do everything that you can to clear his name, Frederick. A witch hunt is the last thing we need at the moment.”

“I will. We’ll bring him in for questioning and release the findings to the press. As I said, I doubt we’ll find anything suspicious about him.”

You nodded, satisfied, and turned to look back at Jacob. He was exactly where you’d left him at Annie’s side. You couldn’t read his expression for he hadn’t one. His gaze was as blank as his face, the only movement from him at all the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“Is he...well?”

Freddy asked in a low voice as you faced him once more. His attention flitted from Jacob back to you, brows knitted together.

“We are not simply losing members of our Brotherhood, Frederick. These women are family in all but blood. Annie was with us when we fought Crawford Starrick. We had a long history together.”

The inspector nodded, clear sympathy in his gaze, and then made a motion towards the door to excuse himself, no doubt to give you a moment of privacy to console Jacob. Once he’d gone and the door to the room was closed behind him, you moved to Jacob’s side and slid your arm around his middle. The muscle of his upper arm was firm as you leaned your head against it and murmured the man’s name questioningly.

“How could he do this? To kill her and then rip her insides from her belly like he was only gutting a fish…I didn’t teach him this. I didn’t...”

Jacob’s voice started strong but dissolved into a thin, reedy thing that wavered at the edges. When you looked from Annie’s bloodless face to his, you saw tears welling in his eyes. A hiccuping breath and a blink sent the moisture spilling down his cheeks. Jacob swore and roughly swiped the tears away, gritting his teeth.

“Devil take him! I should have left him to rot in Lambeth,” Jacob bit out. His tone was equal parts anger and desperation. He flexed his fingers in agitation at his sides. “I allowed my feelings to overpower my damn sense. I let him manipulate me with what happened to his mother and now look what he’s done! He’s a bloody monster and it’s _my_ fault that he’s running loose in our city!”

“Enough, Jacob,” you said firmly, bringing your hands up to cradle his face and force him to look at you. You gentled your tone as you went on. “Freeing him from the asylum was the right thing to do. He was only a boy and you saw good in him. There _was_ good in him, however scant. His actions now do not negate the empathy you had in your heart twenty years ago. You weren’t weak, or mistaken. You did your duty as an Assassin. Please...please do not let him harden your heart. You love and feel so deeply and I’d be devastated if that were to change.”

Jacob leaned into one of your hands and sighed heavily, eyes closing as he bit at his lip. He looked like he wanted to argue for a moment, but when he opened his eyes again there was only tired resignation in his gaze.

“We need to summon the others and discuss how to proceed from here on. They need to be warned...now that Jack’s intentions with the Assassins are clear.”

 

After the loss of Annie, Jacob shifted his remaining assets around to keep closer watch over Whitechapel. Despite Jacob’s increased patrols along the edges of the borough and more of his spies infiltrating the prostitution rings all across London, no trace of Jack could be found. Each night as you saw your children off to bed, you would wonder if the morning would bring Freddy back to your doorstep with news of another body. However, morning after morning came with no news. It was relieving but worrying in equal measure. If Jack had gone into hiding, you didn’t doubt he was plotting something while he waited for a more opportune time to strike. He wasn’t finished, yet.

Six days following her death, Jacob and you attended Annie’s burial in the City of London. Or rather, you attended in your own way by watching from atop a mausoleum a short distance across the cemetery. Her family had wanted the funeral kept secret and private with only relatives in attendance. Most likely to keep journalists away, you imagined. When the mourners for her had cleared out, you’d slipped over quickly and quietly and laid a bundle of harebells and michaelmas daisies upon the freshly upturned earth covering her casket. When you looked up from the small headstone given to her and into Jacob’s face, you saw tears in his eyes once more and a helpless look on his face. You knew he was hurting deeply. To have one of his own killed by the pupil he had placed so much faith in...Jacob was heartbroken, though he wouldn’t admit it. The pair of you hurried home after that and Jacob was quick to seek out Emmett and Alma in search of comfort, hugging them and kissing their hair and sighing heavily.

A week passed after Annie’s murder. Then two. Jack did not kill but the knowledge that he was still on the run and free to do as he pleased was maddening. Jacob grew more taciturn and the children began asking questions about the things that they were hearing about a killer loose in London from paperboys on the street corners. Emmett and Alma were young but not fools; they knew that the entire mess was linked to their mother and father somehow. You wished that Jacob was around to help you explain but he had taken to spending all day and part of the evening out and about. Looking for Jack, you knew. You wished he wouldn’t go alone but you couldn’t leave your children by themselves, either. Every time he returned you felt such an immense rush of relief that it nearly brought you to tears.

Twenty two long, slow, and nerve wracking days passed before the Assassins finally caught a small break in locating Jack. Elizabeth Stride, who had joined the Brotherhood just after you and Jacob had returned from India, sent a coded message via a paid off street urchin that she had a lead on where Jack might be hiding. She specified a meeting time and place as that evening in Whitechapel where she had been playing the part of a prostitute for some weeks. After receiving the message, Jacob had barely sat down for the rest of the day, pacing around and making sure he had a strong lineup of guards to watch the house and the children while the pair of you went to meet with Lizzie. He likely wouldn’t have even sat down for dinner if you hadn’t forced him to, scolding him and telling him that if you were going after Jack, he would need his strength.

Emmett and Alma were both asleep when you departed the house. Just as well, you told yourself. Both of you were armed to the tooth with blades and pistols and it would only earn more questions from the children that you hadn’t time to answer. It was late, a quarter after midnight and the air was chill and heavy with fog. Jacob helped you up into the two person trap carriage and set off at a brisk clip down the street.

“Where are we meeting Elizabeth?” You asked as you tugged your hood up to protect your ears from the cold wind whipping by as Jacob impatiently coaxed more speed from the black horse pulling you along.

“She said that she would be on Berner Street, next to a social club for political radicals. It’s a fairly busy area of the borough, especially on a Saturday evening. Hopefully that will provide cover for her.”

The club turned out to be the International Workingmen’s Educational Club. As Jacob had predicted, it was full of men coming and going and the loud laughing and singing inside could easily be heard as your carriage came to a halt on the opposite side of the street. To the immediate left of the Club was a narrow passageway, hardly wide enough to fit a horse and cart through; it was the entrance to the Dutfield’s Yard that served several businesses behind the Club. As you hopped down from the carriage, unhooked one of the lanterns from the carriage to have more light for yourselves, and strode towards the mouth of the narrow alley, you didn’t see Elizabeth anywhere. Jacob noticed much the same thing.

“We’re not late,” he commented as he took his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked it with a furrow of his brow. He tucked it away and jerked his head towards the alleyway. “Come on. She probably wouldn’t stand about in the open, anyway. The Yard out back would be my best guess as to where she’d hide.”

You eyed the passageway with some trepidation. There was nowhere near enough room within it to adequately move and defend yourselves if you needed to. There was no other way into the Yard, however, and so you walked alongside your husband into the dark space. Ahead of you stood the shadowy shape of the open gate to Dutfield’s Yard.

“Lizzie?”

Jacob called into the fog as you both strode along, shoulder to shoulder. No answer came, and you held your oil lantern out from your body to light the way as you moved along. The path was filthy, covered in stagnant puddles of rainwater and discarded beer bottles and rotten food.

As the pair of you drew up to the gate, you heard Jacob take a breath as if to call out again to the other Assassin when the quick, scuffing sound of boots on the ground cut him off. You both froze mid-step, exchanging tense glances. At once your free hand reached into your coat and withdrew your kukri, and once Jacob had his own cane sword out and unsheathed you crept forward towards the entrance to the Yard, then slipped inside. Your pace was slow and careful and you were listening hard. The sound had been so distinct. It couldn’t have possibly been anything other than someone scurrying to flee at your approach. Still, other than the muted noise of raucous singing from within the Workingmen’s Club, there was nothing else to be heard.

At least not until a punched out breath issued from Jacob when your lantern light reached through the hazy wall of fog to illuminate the prone figure of Elizabeth Stride alongside the back wall of the Club. She was facing away from you, towards the brickwork, but even from where you stood you could see the sheen of blood on the ground under her head. The pair of you went to her at once and knelt down. Up close you could see dark blood slowly oozing from a deep gash across her throat. Her hands lacked any signs of defensive wounds. There was no blood or skin from her attacker beneath her nails.

“Her hands are unhurt. She had no chance to fight back,” you said quietly.

“Damn it... _god damn it_ , Lizzie. I’m so sorry,” Jacob muttered, touching her cheek and then recoiling as if he had been burned. He looked up at you with a stricken expression. “Her skin is still warm.”

“We need to tell the police. We’ll need them to close this yard off before a journalist stumbles across this mess. Freddy will want to come and see as well.”

“I’ll go get one of them from inside to send someone to find a night patrol,” Jacob said as he stood and made his way around to the back door. You heard him banging on it incessantly until finally someone answered.

You turned your attention from Lizzie’s body to the depths of the yard and the surrounding rooftops of the forge and other businesses. As Jacob spoke to a man at the door and motioned in the direction of the body, you set the lantern beside Lizzie and strode into the dark mist of the night. Your Sight revealed nothing but the dark shapes of discarded crates and broken cart wheels in need of mending. There was no one else around and nowhere to hide in the Yard. However, as you turned your head to look back at Jacob, an irregular shape atop the boarding school on the opposite side of the street, just visible over the low roof of another business, caught your eye. You froze, studying it hard and trying to surmise if it was worth investigating or if it was merely part of the architecture.

A faint glint of light along a narrow, metallic object amidst the dark figure made you break into a run before your mind had fully decided to do so. Even from that distance, you knew a blade when you saw one. You yelled for Jacob once but didn’t turn to see if he was following. By the time you had exited the Yard and reached the school, the figure had scaled down its outer wall with ease only displayed by an Assassin and took off at a dead run down Fairclough Street. You could see that it was a person of impressive stature as you followed, and when they passed beneath a gas light, you saw a familiar top hat and black duster coat. It was Jack. It could be no one else.

He led you for some long minutes down one street and another and another, until the streets turned to narrow alleyways. When he clambered up onto an omnibus building you followed, leaping from one roof to another, deeper and deeper into the maze of the borough. You still had not heard Jacob behind you. A small voice spoke caution, that you were alone, but you ran onward. Fear had no place at the moment. Jack was within reach and you didn’t need Jacob’s help to put a blade in his throat.

You did come skidding to a stop, however, when you jumped from a high apartment roof and landed hard upon a small printing press office. Jack was nowhere in sight. The rooftops within view were all vacant and yet you did not hear any pounding footsteps leading away from you.

_Which means that he is hiding here somewhere. He must be. I can’t lose him. Please._

The thought made you tighten your hold on the kukri. A higher vantage point was your best option to figure out where to go next. There was an old, rather rickety looking sign for an out of business tea importer jutting out overhead from a brick building that would have to do. You aimed for the edge of the roof above it and fired a rope dart, clambering up and over the rusted metal of the sign in mere seconds. There was no immediate sign of Jack there, either. You went to the edge of the roof and looked out, combing through every shadowy nook and cranny you could see with your Sight but there was nothing. Only the nervous cooing of pigeons nesting on the roof nearby as they eyed you could be heard.

You sighed and closed your eyes. You’d been right behind him and now he was gone. Again. He had taken another Sister from you and you’d not even landed a single blow upon him for it. You knew that Jacob wouldn’t be mad that Jack had gotten away, but he’d likely give you a stern word or two about running off without him.

You turned and walked back across the roof, holding your arm out and aiming for a wooden beam down low so that you could swing back down to the street. The soft, startled fluttering of bird wings behind you met your ears and just as you turned your head to look, horrific pain erupted in your mouth as something massive and hard struck you squarely in the face. You saw a glimpse of Jack’s mask through the tears that welled in your eyes. He’d been behind you and you hadn’t even heard him. You shouldn’t have been surprised; you had trained him to be the best, after all. The taste of blood overwhelmed you as you staggered and went down to one knee, lashing out blindly with your kukri. Your blade made contact with something solid, perhaps Jack’s thigh, but it wasn’t nearly enough to slow him down. A massive hand gripped your face and hauled you up to your feet, lifted you clean off of them, and then your world tipped backward as Jack slammed you down upon your back on the dirty roof. An agonized noise was muted by his hand over your mouth.

The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs, left you weak and disoriented, and a hand twisted your wrist with such viciousness that you had no choice but to relinquish your blade. You shouted and tried to bite the palm over your mouth but a thick layer of leather in the form of gloves protected your attacker. You received a violent shake and your head was banged off of the roof for your efforts, and then you felt your face being tipped backward, leaving the soft column of your throat exposed. Panic seized you and you cried shrilly into Jack’s palm and kicked your legs, trying to thrash out from beneath him, but the cold line of steel against your neck made you freeze. You could have unsheathed your wrist blade but in the position you were in, Jack would have your throat flayed open before you could land a killing blow. The man over you pressed his knee into your pelvis to keep you still, and when he spoke you could feel his breath hit your jaw even through his mask.

“I should bleed you out right here for interrupting my work.”

The threatening words in that familiar, bawdy voice of his made your already racing heart pound ever faster. A small noise echoed in your throat and you squirmed. Jack increased the pressure of his hand upon your face in return. It hurt badly; you’d be surprised if you didn’t have bruises after this...if you lived. You could hear his breathing quicken every time you moved and so you tried to will your trembling to cease. You did not want Jacob to find you dead and gutted like an old cow at the slaughterhouse. He didn’t deserve that. Before you could think about how to get out of your predicament, the blade left your neck and found a new home against your belly. The razor sharp point of the knife could be felt against your stomach even through your layers of clothing. Apparently that wasn’t good enough for Jack. With a slow, gentle swipe of the blade, Jack sliced through the fabric of your clothes until the cold metal met your bare skin. Images of Annie Chapman’s body flashed through your mind at the touch and you heard Abberline’s words — how she had been eviscerated and pieces of her stolen and used for Devil knew what — and you went still, rigid beneath your attacker.

“I remember when we traveled to India together,” Jack finally spoke. You felt the line of his thumb stroke over your cheek. The touch made your skin crawl. “You showed me kindness. Mothered me. Perhaps you treated me as your own blood out of instinct. A desire to have a child to care for while you waited for _dear_ Jacob to ease into the idea of fatherhood...or perhaps it was only out of pity and guilt like your husband.”

You remembered it all, too. When Jack had been freshly liberated from Lambeth, thin and sallow faced and withdrawn save for outbursts of incredible anger. How Jacob had welcomed him with open arms regardless of his clearly troubled mind. In retrospect, perhaps Jacob had been plagued by incredible guilt when he’d allowed Jack to join the Initiates. He had always had a soft spot for the disenfranchised youth of the city; perhaps it had been to his peril where Jack the Lad had been concerned.

You recalled the voyage to India two years after Jack had been freed. The weeks at sea gave you plenty of time to talk to Jack, to bond with him and encourage him to choose the good in his heart over the darkness that beckoned him. You remembered his manner when he was a younger man, how he rarely smiled and held himself in a guarded, on edge way. But you had watched him grow amongst the Initiates in India and believed that, in spite of it all, he would be a great asset to the London Brotherhood when you all finally returned to England.

The tip of the knife catching at the edge of your navel startled you back to the present. You could feel the heat of the blood in your mouth seeping down into your throat. You had no choice but to swallow so that you didn’t choke on it.

“I was naive. I put faith in the wrong man but _now_...now I understand. I see what my mission is. I must end this weak, diseased leadership beneath Jacob Frye and start a new Brotherhood with a better, stronger Creed. No one will need to suffer as I did while Jacob and his ilk did nothing,” Jack said, voice dipping ever lower. “Where has he been while I have been growing stronger? Disinterested. Distracted by his children. By _you_. He must die and be replaced so that others may be saved...but I will come back for you before I do that.”

His breath belied the stoicism of his voice; each exhale shook with barely contained excitement and pleasure. He was like a savage dog kept on a chain, frothing at the mouth and straining to get loose and cause mayhem. You felt the tip of his blade press harder into your lower belly. A harsh exhale from you was muffled by his gloved hand.

“It isn’t enough to replace him. No...it wouldn’t do to stop there. When I have finished tearing Jacob’s empire down around him. When all of his Brothers and Sisters in London are dead or have joined me and he is exposed for the worthless leader that he is...then I will find you and gut you. I will tear your womb from your body and bring it to him. So that he understands the extent of his failure. The loss of his wife. The mother of his children...who I will also take from him. Emmett and Alma Frye. You will be gone but I promise you that they will squeal for their father to hear. That is his punishment...decided by my own special Council.”

You felt a rush of pure terror as he spoke. Jack was not threatening you. He was simply telling you what was going to happen with the same certainty as someone saying it would storm as dark clouds gathered on the horizon. You tried to look through the holes of his mask to see what sort of look he had in his gaze but the shadows of the night kept his eyes hidden. For a moment Jack fell into silence as he ran the blade up and down between your navel and the edge of your trousers. Suddenly he stopped and your abdominal muscles tightened reflexively, bracing yourself to feel the knife bury itself into your stomach.

“But that time is not now. I’ve not finished playing with you, yet.”

Before you could anticipate his movement, Jack seized you by the throat and hair and hefted you up with ease, flinging you back and over the edge of the roof. Your stomach clenched with the sickening feeling of falling and your mind went blank in anticipation of hitting the ground hard, of feeling bones splintering and unbearable pain until you died. However, your arm had already shot out to fire the rope dart towards the roof and it found purchase via wrapping around the support beams of the sign several times. Though it slowed your progress to the ground below you still landed hard on your side. You heard something else hit the ground beside you and when you turned your head, you saw your kukri. Now that your mouth was uncovered you took great, trembling breaths that only aggravated your nerves rather than soothing them. You braced yourself on the damp dirt of the alleyway and moved up onto your knees, casting your gaze towards the surrounding rooftops. Jack was not there, as you had expected. He had vanished like a ghost once more.

“ _Jack_!”

You did not know what possessed you to scream his name like a banshee into the night, or what took that ferocity away and made room for shaken sobbing a moment later. Your weeping wasn’t out of sadness. You were angry that he had been so close and had escaped. That he had bested you. That he had threatened you and your children and you had not been able to do anything but listen. You slammed a fist against the ground in your fury and then scrambled up to your feet, staggering slightly at the pain in your ribs and leg that you had landed upon. You still tasted blood in your mouth.

The rapid drumming of feet on the ground behind you made you spin about on heel, arm coming up and blade extended as you prepared to land a killing blow. A beam of light in your eyes cut your movement short and you cursed, shielding your gaze. You felt a firm hold on your upper arm seconds later and when you lowered your arm from your eyes you saw Jacob, lantern in hand. His gaze flickered from your swollen, split lip and the smeared blood that had begun to dry on your chin. Anger blossomed upon his face.

“I’m all ri—”

“ _Don’t_. You’re covered in blood and you’ve tears in your eyes,” Jacob said in a gruff, terse voice. He took your face into his free hand and forced you to look him in the eye.

“I heard you scream his name.”

All you could give was a faint nod. Then you gingerly reached up to move Jacob’s hand from your face, guiding it down to where Jack’s knife had pierced your waistcoat and shirt. Jacob looked startled as his fingertips brushed against the bare skin of your belly. It was quickly replaced with understanding at what was implied by the ruined garment and, for a split second, Jacob appeared ill.

“He held a blade to you?” Jacob’s voice had gone soft and faint but his calm was false. He was livid; you could see it in the square of his jaw.

“Yes,” you managed to get out; you felt suddenly ashamed, though you didn’t understand why, and your throat was once more tight with emotion. You didn’t want to cry again. It was hardly the time or the place. You weren’t the one lying dead on the ground like poor Lizzie and neither was Jacob. Your eyes, however, hadn’t seemed to get the message and were rapidly dampening. “Jacob—”

A sudden shout of Jacob’s name made your husband whirl about, his hand already gripping his pistol and bringing it upward to aim when he stopped short. You looked around his shoulder to see Freddy standing a short distance away, a hand held up to stay any further action from either of you. His expression was grim enough but when he caught sight of your battered face he looked positively alarmed. Still, he had the grace not to ask, simply pulling a kerchief from his pocket as he approached and holding it out for you to take. You nodded your thanks and took the scrap of silk, dampening it with spit and scrubbing at your chin until it no longer felt sticky with blood.

“Elizabeth’s body is secured by my men,” Freddy said at length when the three of you had set off back towards the murder scene. “They’re interviewing all of the patrons still present at the Workingmen’s Club. I sent for a physician before I came to find you two. He may have arrived by now.”

At the mention of the fallen Assassin you lowered your face, reaching a hand back to tug your hood up over your head, seeking some semblance of a buffer between yourself and the harsh reality of the evening if only for a few minutes. The solid warmth of Jacob’s hand upon your lower back as you walked alongside him helped, as did the fact that he said nothing about your momentary retreat into your own self.

The scene of the murder was lit brightly by lanterns when you returned to it. You could see a group of perhaps twenty men at the back entrance of the Club accompanied by several bobbies. They were jotting things down into notebooks and nodding along as they listened to different men speak. You chewed your lip but said nothing, though you felt like screaming that questioning the men was a waste of time. None of them had seen anything — they would be dead on the ground with Lizzie if they had.

Speaking of which, there was in fact a rather round, greying man knelt down at Lizzie’s corpse. He was speaking aloud as he gingerly inspected her neck and the area around her collar bones. A younger, scholarly looking man was standing beside him, taking dictation in a pocket sized notebook. The duo gave her a quick once over before ushering in a photographer to document the wounds and position of the body before it was moved from the scene. You knew a more thorough examination would take place later on in the morgue.

When the documentation of her body had finished, Lizzie was gently lifted and laid down upon a white sheet that had been spread out upon the ground. A sudden surge of odd panic seized you; they were going to take her away. You wouldn’t see her again. You hadn’t had a chance to say farewell yet. Before you knew it you were moving through the crowd of police and towards the body. Only a handful of steps away, a rough hand grabbed hold of you by the upper arm and dragged you backwards.

“You can’t be here, madame—”

The sound of the male voice trying to be superior, to tell you where and what you could and could not do while your friend lay dead on the ground because of another man who had also seen her as inferior made you see red.

“Get your bloody hands off of me unless you want to draw back stumps, you useless prick,” you snapped, whirling like a cornered dog and baring your teeth at the officer. Your arm drew back on instinct, ready to strike out with your blade. He released you at once, edging back nervously and casting a helpless look to Freddy. The inspector sighed but held him off with a raised hand, expression saying _just leave her be for a moment_.

Free to resume your mourning, you hurried to Lizzie’s side and knelt, bringing a hand to her face and gently touching her cheek as if you were trying not to wake her. Her skin was cold beneath your fingers.

“You served us bravely. Jack will pay for killing so many of his own,” you whispered so softly that no one else could hear. “Rest easy.”

Once you stood and moved back to Jacob’s side amid curious, strange glances, the wrapping of the body resumed. You did not watch.

 

When the police had finished questioning most of the Club goers, you caught Freddy by the arm and inquired about the hour. It was late, you knew, and you wanted so badly to go home and stand guard until your children awoke so that you could hold them.

“It’s just now two in the morning,” Freddy said, sharing your tired look and sigh as he snapped the watch shut and dropped it back into his pocket. “The body will be transported to the hospital and held until her family can identify it. You and Jacob should go get some rest. There’s nothing left for you to do here.”

You nodded and turned your head to look across the Yard to where Jacob was leaned against the alleyway wall, arms folded and expression effectively shuttered. He was looking downward at his own boots. This was the third Assassin that had died under his command, in his city. You knew he was beginning to blame himself. These women were going out on his orders without hesitation and one by one they were being slaughtered. Turning fully and striding toward him, you tried to think of something to say that would ease his mind somehow.

Before you could reach him, the shrill ringing of more police brigade bells sounded in the distance. You stiffened at once, as did Jacob before pushing himself off of the wall and running with you out to the main street that ran past the Club. The ringing was rapidly approaching, and just as Freddy rushed to stand beside you, looking worried and bewildered in equal measure, a police carriage came around the further corner at such speed that it wobbled ominously for a moment. Freddy stepped forward and waved his arms to get the driver’s attention, and then everyone in the street had to step aside to give the thundering horses enough room to slide to a halt. The beasts breathed hard, clearly having been driven mercilessly from elsewhere.

“What is the meaning of this?” Freddy demanded, giving the young man at the reins a stern look. “Are you trying to kill someone else?”

The man showed no signs of having even heard Freddy’s lecture; he sputtered for a moment and took a deep breath as if he had been the one pulling the carriage, and then spit out:

“A woman’s been murdered, sir. In Mitre Square. Looks like she might’ve been a prostitute.”

It was Freddy’s turn to sputter and search for his words. He stepped closer to the carriage and held up his lantern to get a better look at the young officer.

“In the City of London? Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. Watkins found her on his beat not fifteen minutes ago. She’s...she’s been butchered, sir. I lost my dinner looking at her.”

Jacob turned to move at the same moment you did, running back to the carriage that you two had taken to Berner Street. It was a short ride to Mitre Square from Berner Street and Jacob clearly intended to make record time as he drove the horse through the night. Freddy was close at heel with the rest of his brigade.

There were a few bobbies at Mitre Square when you arrived, standing in a line before the narrow entrance to an area out back of a run down house. You could tell by the uneasy expression they each wore that whatever scene they were guarding, it was unlike anything they’d encountered before. The officers stood aside at once for Freddy as he approached, but Jacob and you could not get by as the inspector abruptly stopped in his tracks.

“God in heaven,” Freddy said in a faint voice.

Impatient, Jacob reached to grasp Freddy’s shoulder, drawing him aside and stepping into the small space. You followed closely behind but when Jacob stepped aside to give you room, you wished you had stayed in the carriage. It was a woman of slight build and dark hair, though you only knew it by the small curve of her bosom beneath her low cut dress. Her face was mangled, the tip of her nose missing and her cheeks riddled with gashes and caked in blood. Her throat had been cut, just as Lizzie’s had been. That wasn’t what made your stomach turn over and over again; it was her abdomen, visible with the skirts of her dress drawn up to leave her stomach and thighs in full view. She had been torn open, intestines drawn out and strung up over her right shoulder. Though you were not a physician, you had heard enough about Jack’s handiwork to know that her uterus was likely missing. This was the scene you had missed when Annie had been killed. This was the madness that Jack had chosen to unleash upon London.

The sight combined with the smell of blood in the air was suddenly overwhelming and you coughed and gagged, reaching for something to brace yourself on. Jacob was there at once, holding you by the arm and letting you lean against him as you tried to get a breath of air that didn’t stink of death. As you gathered yourself, your gaze flickered away from the awful mess of her stomach to her outstretched right arm. Her fingers were curled slightly but free of bruising or cuts as Lizzie’s had been; apparently she never had the chance to defend herself, either.

“Who is she?” You heard Freddy inquire from somewhere behind you. “Jacob? Is she one of yours?”

Jacob guided you to the nearest wall and eased you to lean against it, which you had no qualms with. You watched him go to the body and kneel down with a resolve that you envied, reaching out to gently turn the woman’s head from its left facing position until he could see her properly. He was silent for a long moment, and then he stood and backed away several steps.

“Catherine Eddowes,” Jacob muttered, casting a tired look at the inspector, “and yes, Freddy. She was one of mine.”

Another wave of nausea washed over you as you caught another whiff of blood. You couldn’t help but allow your gaze to be drawn back to the bloody, macabre mess before you. Despite your disgust a sudden, grim curiosity gripped you. Why hadn’t Lizzie been mutilated in this way? Why spare her the indignity?

Freddy seemed to be on the same track of thought as you as he stood back on the other side of the body with a deep furrow of his brows.

“Are we certain that Miss Stride was murdered by The Ripper after all? Her throat was cut but that was the extent of the damage to her body. Perhaps it was only a mugging gone wrong? This scene here is what I’ve come to expect from our killer.”

“He did not leave Lizzie...intact...willingly,” you muttered, looking sideways as Jacob’s attention snapped to you. “Our arrival at Berner Street caught him by surprise. We interrupted him before he could gut her. It infuriated him. He took his anger out on Catherine as a result.”

When you looked up to meet Freddy’s gaze, he was examining you with a shrewd, prying expression.

“How do you know this?”

_Because I came face to face with him tonight and he threatened to kill me for keeping him from completing his work on Lizzie._

Instead of voicing your thoughts you shrugged and cast your eyes away, focusing on one of Catherine’s booted feet.

“Speculation based upon familiarity with Jack’s methods and habits when he kills, inspector. Nothing more.”

Freddy seemed to accept your explanation, or at least hadn’t the energy or will to keep badgering you for the truth. He was soon beckoned by his officers to help shoo away the gaggle of journalists that had begun to swarm the area like flies. You remained with Jacob until Catherine’s body had been inspected by a physician, photographed, and loaded into the back of a cart. When the two of you left, you took your own path over the rooftops to avoid being seen and questioned by the press still circling the Square in search of a way inside. The last thing the Brotherhood needed was a picture of two of its Masters making the front page of the morning newspaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fun” Fact: Elizabeth “Lizzie” Stride and Catherine “Katey” Eddowes were killed on the same night, as they were in the DLC, but they did not die in the same place at the same time. Eddowes was killed approximately one hour after Stride in the City of London rather than in Whitechapel.


	2. Chapter 2

By sunrise you had returned home with Jacob, tired and sick at heart. Though the night guards that Jacob had appointed through the Brotherhood were still in place both outside and within the manor and reported no trouble, you immediately went to each of your children’s bedrooms, peering in on them to make sure they still drew breath. Both were sleeping peacefully, not a hair on their heads out of place. The sight released a great deal of tension from your shoulders. You planted a kiss to each of their foreheads in turn and then went to your own bedroom to change out of your dirty, damaged clothing.

You had just shed your wrist blade and weapons belt when the door eased open behind you. You turned your head quickly in alarm, only to feel foolish as Jacob slipped inside and closed the door behind himself. He had already stripped off his coat and belts and blade, leaving only the black and gold edged Assassin sash around his middle.

“I looked in on the children,” Jacob said as he walked towards you. “Alma woke up and looked at me like I was a right bastard for disturbing her so early on a Sunday.”

You smiled wearily before turning back around, bringing your hand up to loosen the buttons of your waistcoat. It wasn’t a surprise when Jacob’s arms wound around you, his chest pressing against your back. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck and sighed.

“I’m sorry that you have to keep seeing these women like this. I know it’s hurting you in a way I could not ever fully understand.”

You bit your lip but said nothing, focusing on finishing off the buttons so that you could shed the waistcoat and start in on your sleeved shirt beneath it. The buttons of your trousers were next, and Jacob released you hesitantly to allow you to shed all of the loosened garments. You felt his gaze following you, looking at your bruised spine and shoulders as you crossed the room to grab your dressing gown from the corner of a privacy screen. You shrugged it on over your bare figure and closed it, tying the sash tight and then turning to go take a seat upon the lounge before the hearth.

Jacob trailed after you, taking a seat at the opposite end of the lounge. Once he’d gotten comfortable, he had you lie down with your head upon his lap. You closed your eyes as he combed his fingers through your hair, basking in the warmth of his skin beneath the striped material of his trousers. It felt so good. He made you feel safe and you never wanted to move from this spot. London be damned.

Still, you needed to tell him what had happened, so you opened your eyes to avoid drifting off to sleep and cleared your throat.

“Jack spoke to me.”

As you had expected, Jacob’s fingers froze mid-stroke through your hair. He said nothing but you felt he might have been too stunned to find the words.

“I didn’t want to tell you with Freddy around. It wasn’t for his ears,” you added quietly. “Please don’t be cross with me.”

Jacob took a slow, deep breath and let it out in a great sigh. His fingers resuming their movement through your locks was a good sign, you believed.

“Tell me now, love.”

For a moment you hesitated, unsure of how to proceed in a way that wouldn’t upset Jacob.

“Jack said that he will come back for me,” you finally blurted, seeing no way to broach the subject delicately. Your brows furrowed as you thought back to your encounter with the Ripper. It seemed like a hazy fever dream, now, and if it weren’t for the ruined clothing still lying upon the floor you would have questioned if it had actually happened. “Once he’s killed all who allied themselves with you, he will do to me what he’s done to the others. Then he will take our children.”

Jacob said nothing, his hand sitting motionless and heavy upon the nape of your neck. You basked in the attention for a beat and then rolled over gingerly to lie upon your back, looking up at your husband with a worried frown. His attention was fixed straight ahead, gaze distant and blank. He only came back to the present when you reached a hand up to cradle his cheek, stroking the old line of the scar upon his cheek.

“It will not happen,” you said gently, looking earnestly into his eyes. “We will stop him. Don’t let his words put fear into your mind. That’s what gives him strength.”

Jacob nodded slightly and then leaned down as you craned your neck upward, meeting you halfway to kiss you. He sighed against your lips and slid an arm beneath your shoulders, lifting you closer and tilting his head to deepen the kiss. It was the most passion that Jacob had shown for you in days and you soaked it in greedily, chasing his lips as he broke away to catch his breath. Jacob made a low, huffing sound of amusement and let you move up to straddle his lap. You kissed him again, smoothing your palms up and down his chest and belly while you teased his lips with soft nibbles and licks.

Just as Jacob’s fingers began to dip beneath the frilled edge of your dressing gown to touch the curve of your breast, the bedroom door rattled beneath a firm knock. It was too loud to be from one of the children, which left only the guards. A grumble issued from Jacob and he let his head drop back against the lounge in defeat.

“What does a man have to do to tip the velvet around here?” Jacob bit out.

You smiled and patted his shoulder before sliding from his lap so that he could stand and go to the door. You turned your head in time to see Jacob pull it open and nod in greeting to one of the younger Assassins under his command. The Initiate held out a sealed envelope for Jacob to take.

“It arrived just a moment ago, sir. I know that you wished to be told straight away if any post from India was delivered.”

“I did,” Jacob said, sounding far less grumpy now. He thanked the youth and then closed the door, striding quickly back to sit beside you. As he turned the envelope over in his grasp to break the seal upon it, you saw _E. Frye-Mir_ written in fine script in the upper corner beneath the various postage marks that the letter had received during its journey.

“When did you write to her?”

You were genuinely surprised; Jacob had been dreadful about keeping in contact with his sister over the years. You knew that he went months without writing to her, so this development had your full attention.

“When I realized that I had lost Jack. Some weeks before he murdered Mary Ann. I...I knew that I needed more help and Evie is a brilliant Assassin. She’s brilliant at everything. If she cannot combat Jack now that he’s reached the height of his depravity, I’m afraid I don’t know where else to turn,” Jacob said as he delved his fingers into the envelope. A single piece of paper was withdrawn and Jacob scooted closer and held it so that you could read it as he did.

_Dearest Brother,_

_I cannot deny my surprise to find that you, of all the people in England, are begging for my help. If this were any other time, I would possibly gloat about it. However, I am aware of the gravity of the situation. Word of Jack’s actions has traveled through the Brotherhood ahead of your letter. I can tell that eyes lay upon Henry and I here for we, too, helped train and create this monster now terrorizing your city. Further, I know that you would not ask for me to return to your side unless you had great need. By the time you receive this letter I will have already settled my affairs here and departed for England. Henry desired to come as well but I have asked him to stay behind with our children and Initiates. I will take the fastest route that I can but it will still be some weeks before I arrive. Until I do, please be safe. Be smart and stay in the shadows. Don’t die._

_Evie_

“I was afraid she might decline,” Jacob said after he had scanned over the letter a few times. He looked marginally more at ease with the bit of good news.

“She loves you. Of course she’ll come back,” you said, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You were wise to reach out to her.”

“Mmm...I only hope that she can help us. I don’t want to lose everything we’ve built. If Jack destroys us, I’d become a disgrace to the name Assassin,” Jacob mumbled.

He was still looking at the letter from Evie and his gaze was far away. It didn’t take much thought to guess what was going through his mind. Losing his Brotherhood, his Initiates, his title as Master Assassin...it would only serve to reinforce the poor view of himself that he had held onto since his youth. The feeling of being a failure that Ethan had somehow instilled into him. You had helped Jacob work out so much of that negativity over the course of your relationship. You didn’t want him to slide back into it. Not now. You needed him in the present and confident that he would take care of this problem. Not stuck in his own head and drowning in self loathing.

 

On the second morning of October, a shrill cry from within the kitchen and the sound of shattering dishes interrupted the cozy atmosphere and pre-breakfast tea that you and Jacob had been sharing with the children. Jacob had been the first into the kitchen to investigate, pistol untucked from inside his waistcoat and at the ready. You followed closely behind him after telling the children to stay put.

What you found was the cook and maid huddled together at one end of the kitchen, looking pale and nauseous. The small pitcher that typically held cream or milk was in pieces on the floor right before the open icebox.

“What’s the matter?” You asked as Jacob strode over to the mess. The maid shook her head and motioned toward the icebox feebly.

“That...that wasn’t in there last night, Mrs. Frye. I don’t know where it came from but I know it isn’t... _food_.”

Jacob was standing at the icebox by that point, gun held limply at his side as he gazed into the small compartment. He wasn’t saying anything, and didn’t even respond when you called his name, so you moved to stand beside him and see for yourself what had his attention. Only a second later you were very glad that you hadn’t eaten yet as your stomach turned and knotted. Sitting upon the middle shelf in the icebox was a piece of butcher’s paper, crinkled at the edges from being folded and then opened up once more. A bloody mass sat upon it and it did not look like any cut of beef or mutton or pork that you had ever seen.

A lone tailor’s pin was stuck into the fleshiest part of it, holding in place a single scrap of paper that bore the word _Eddowes_ in jagged writing.

You didn’t know what to say. It appeared Jacob didn’t, either. He moved as if he’d been numbed from head to toe, tucking away his pistol and reaching out to gingerly grip the edges of the paper wrapping. The maid let out another distressed noise as Jacob removed the mess from the icebox and then turned to reach up onto a hook upon the wall near the stove, taking down the basket that was used for carrying home market goods. He set it down upon the table, carefully refolded the paper and set the package into said basket, and then gave the maid a dark look.

“Go get your coat. You’ll take this to the foundry in Southwark. The one controlled by the Rooks. Tell them I sent it. That I want it burned until nothing is left. You’ll not tell a soul on your way there or on the way back or you’ll find yourself out of employment.”

It looked like the woman wanted to protest but Jacob’s expression brooked no argument. She nodded meekly and hurried from the room, footsteps fading as she headed towards her quarters. The cook, who had been edging towards the door throughout the ordeal, quickly took her leave as well. A heavy, smothering silence followed. Jacob was stood before the icebox again, and then he turned on heel and stormed from the kitchen. The sound of the back door to the manor flinging open followed. You called his name, worried, but before you could go after him he nearly bowled you over as he returned. In only a handful of long strides he was at the icebox, hefting it up from its place on the counter top with teeth bared from the effort. You stood back, stunned and confused, as he stormed by again and disappeared out the back door.

“What are you doing?” You called after him, rushing to the open doorway and peering out.

He was stood upon the walkway that went around to the front of the house or out to the street. With an angry growl, Jacob heaved the contraption up into the air before you could even think to stop him. The box splintered apart as it crashed down upon the stone path, pieces of wood and ice flying every which way. Still not satisfied, Jacob grabbed one of the icebox’s sides and flung it across the small, grassy area behind the house until it sailed over a hedge and out of sight.

“Jacob! That was bloody expensive! What are we supposed to keep the perishables in now?” You scolded from the doorway. Your husband whirled about with a fiercely livid look on his face as he bellowed at you.

“Do you think I give a toss? I will not have my family eating food stored in the same space that pieces of a woman’s cunt were kept in! God damn the cost! I would spend every last shilling I had if it meant my children didn’t have to experience this! If _you_ didn’t have to experience this!”

You took a moment to shake off the start his raised voice gave you. Jacob wasn’t angry with you, after all. It was the situation. The idea that Jack had been in your home unnoticed and had left behind such a macabre present. Biting your lip and moving gingerly to his side, you reached for one of his hands. It took a bit of coaxing for him to unball it from a tight fist and allow you to slot your fingers in between his. You ran the pad of your thumb over his calloused knuckles and rested your other hand upon his heaving chest, stroking slowly as if you were gentling a temperamental horse.

“I know you’re frightened. I know,” you whispered as Jacob melted into your comforting touches and leaned his forehead to yours.

“I don’t know how you aren’t,” Jacob replied faintly. You hummed and smoothed your hand up to the side of his neck, thumbing over the quick drumming of his pulse beneath his skin.

“I am, love. I’m terrified. But we must keep ourselves together. For Emmett and Alma.”

Jacob heaved a deep sigh and nodded, tilting his head to catch your lips with his. You squeezed his hand reassuringly as you kissed him in return. Hesitant, shuffling steps from behind you made you break the kiss first and turn your head. Emmett and Alma were both in the back doorway, looking at the remains of the icebox and then to you with frowning faces.

“Are we not having breakfast, then?” Alma asked sadly.

Before you could even think of what to say in explanation, Jacob released your hand and hurried over to the children, guiding them back inside with arms spread out as if he were herding lambs.

“Of course we are, dove. I simply realized the icebox was broken and lost my temper. Bloody shoddy craftsmanship. Both of you pop upstairs and get your coats and boots on and then we’ll go out.”

“Can we go to that place in Westminster that makes those wonderful roe omelettes?” Alma asked, beyond enthused with the idea of dining out for a change. You watched Jacob bring a hand up to ruffle her hair before they disappeared back into the house.

“Absolutely. I need to make a quick stop to send a telegraph and then I’ll buy you any sort of omelette you want.”

 _A quick stop to send a telegraph_. You were immediately suspicious. Jacob was frazzled and upset by the morning’s events. He was clearly up to something but you let it go. He would do what he needed to do and you would have to trust that it was for the best.

Just as he’d said, Jacob left you and the children waiting in the carriage while he rushed into the telegraph office that he’d acquired from Mister Bell before the inventor left for Canada. It was under Assassin control, now, and that knowledge concerned you. Whatever message Jacob was sending, it was clearly important and private enough to require use of the Assassin network rather than the public telegraph office. He was only gone for perhaps ten minutes and said nothing about the contents of the message he’d sent despite your curious glance as he clambered back up into the driver’s seat.

“After breakfast you’ll have to take the children home. I’ve got to wait here for a response to my request.”

“Request? What did you request and from who?”

Jacob sighed and pursed his lips, turning his head to make sure it was clear to guide the horses out into the road. You said nothing else for the duration of the ride to Westminster, annoyed and a little afraid. Needless to say, your appetite was ruined but you managed to eat a decent amount so that the children wouldn’t be worried.

Dinner time came and went and Jacob was still absent. You kept yourself busy with making sure there was water heated for Emmett and Alma to take a bath before bed and that all of the windows in the manor were closed and securely latched. By ten o’clock both of the children were in bed, Alma fast asleep while Emmett read the last bit of a chapter from his lessons earlier in the day. With the evening guard in place at the front door and upon each level of the house, you washed your face and changed into your nightgown before retreating to Jacob’s study. You lit both oil lamps that sat at either end of his desk, knowing that he would see the light glowing through the window when he did return and know where to find you. Then you went to the cabinet behind his desk and opened up the glass doors, taking out a short, crystal glass and a bottle of whiskey.

Jacob might have been open about his frustration and anger that morning after finding Jack’s gift, but you’d refused to let the children see you in such a state. You still had to double as a mother outside of the Brotherhood and your children needed you to appear confident and collected. Nevertheless, the heaviness of the situation, not just from that morning but from the weeks previous, had sat upon you with merciless pressure. Catherine’s mangled body flashed through your mind and you furrowed your brows, tugged the cork from the bottle with a hollow pop, and poured some of the dark amber liquid into your glass.

Two fingers of whiskey later and you were seated upon the sill of the window, sipping idly at a third when you saw a carriage pull up the street and stop before the front archway. Jacob’s familiar figure stepped out and you saw him toss something, likely a coin, up to the driver before he turned and made his way towards the front door. Though you still felt put out from him refusing to tell you what he was doing at the telegraph office, you got up and poured a second glass of whiskey for him, setting it upon his desk beside the lamp. The sound of the front door opening and closing met your ears and shortly after you heard footfalls approaching the study door. You did your best to look relaxed, and you supposed the whiskey helped because you only glanced back from the window when Jacob came through the door.

He eyed you where you were perched upon the sill with toes and nightgown brushing against the floor, then raised a brow at the glass in your hand.

“Is that the wisest idea, love?”

You raised a brow in return and took a pointed sip, licking your lips and looking at him evenly.

“It’s no worse than you going out without me to look for Jack,” you replied smoothly, motioning towards the glass on the desk. “I’ve poured you some. You look like you need it.”

A sigh was his response, but after a moment of deliberation Jacob went over and grabbed up the glass, nearly emptying it in one go and clearing his throat at the heat of the whiskey as it went down. He then shrugged his overcoat off and went to hang it on a hook by the door.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t home for dinner,” he said softly as he turned back to you, coming over to stand before you and stroke a hand over your hair. You felt the soft press of a kiss to the top of your head a moment later. “It took far longer than I’d hoped for Crawley to send a return telegram. Bastards.”

“Crawley? What could you possibly have to say to them?”

You asked flatly, tipping your head up to look at him. Jacob delved his hand into the inner pocket of his waistcoat, withdrawing the familiar shape of a telegram card. He offered it wordlessly for you to take. Once you did, he turned and went over to his desk, polishing off his drink before he began rifling through the drawers, brows furrowed in concentration as he searched for something. You shifted your own attention to the telegram in your grasp, reading the strange, cryptic message with a faint frown.

_We will grant your request under the conditions specified. An escort will be waiting outside London two mornings from now. Arrive no later than five._

“I don’t understand,” you mumbled, scanning the message again for any further details. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’ll go to Crawley with Emmett and Alma,” Jacob said as he thumbed through a stack of papers that he had pulled from a drawer. You frowned and looked over your shoulder but he hadn’t looked up from his task.

“You’re not sending me away,” you bit out, setting your glass down hard and flicking the telegram to the floor in disgust. You stood from the sill and stepped forward, hands on your hips in a defiant stance. Jacob did look up at that, his expression one that would have frightened you had you not been his wife of nearly two decades and accustomed to all of his moody looks.

“This isn’t up for debate. It’s not safe for you here.”

“Oh, spare me, Jacob Frye. It’s not safe anywhere in this world for one reason or another. I’m not a maiden to be locked away while you defeat the monster alone. This isn’t a bloody fairy tale. I am an Assassin, the same as you,” you retorted heatedly, voice rising when Jacob shook his head and stood upright, arms crossing over his chest. “Don’t you look at me like I’m being unreasonable! I will stay here and fight with you!”

“I don’t want you to!” Jacob yelled suddenly, throwing his hands up violently. “I don’t want your help! I want you to leave!”

The abrupt roar of his voice had startled you into silence but you refused to drop his fierce gaze, forcing him to be the first to back down. He reached back blindly and braced his palms atop his desk, hanging his head, shoulders square and tense. The sight of him slouched in upon himself made your heart sink despite your annoyance. You moved away from the window and approached him slowly, reaching out to rest your palm upon his chest when you were within reach. When he made no move to shrug you off, you slid your arms around his middle and leaned your forehead against his, brows furrowed as you squeezed him tight.

“I want you to go,” Jacob repeated, voice clipped and shaking. “ _Please_. I love you. I love my family. Please do not ask me to endure finding my wife cut open and seeing my children tortured. Do not ask me to endure being given your insides in a box. I am not strong enough to survive that.”

His words sent a rush of something akin to nausea through you. Not for yourself. You had walked the path of an Assassin long enough to be accustomed to the threat of violence upon your person. Your children, however...Emmett was fifteen, trained in a fight with only his fists and an old, dulled cane sword of Jacob’s. Against the lads around his own age in the Brotherhood he was fierce, and yet you knew he would stand no chance against someone of Jack’s caliber. Alma even less so; she was only just thirteen as of a few months ago and still in the very beginning stages of entering the Brotherhood, armed with knowledge rather than a blade.

You hadn’t realized your fingers had dug into Jacob’s back until he reached and gently pried them loose, taking you into his arms instead. The tightness of his jaw that suggested fierce determination was betrayed by the sheen of moisture in his eyes, and your stomach knotted unpleasantly at the sight. Clearly the idea of losing his son and daughter, or his wife, or all three in one fell swoop had weighed heavily upon his mind since the night of the double murder and Jack’s gift had been the final nail in the coffin. He had suffered so much loss already thanks to Jack and you did not want to put more upon his weary shoulders.

“All right, love. I’ll go,” you acquiesced at last in a strained voice. It felt wrong to say; it felt like cowardice and a betrayal of your vows as an Assassin and as a wife to the man who you had stood with through all threats.

Jacob seemed to sense how much the situation was hurting you inside. He pulled you flush to his chest and his cheek came to rest atop your head as he rubbed a slow circle upon your back.

“I trust you and you alone to keep Emmett and Alma safe. I only ask you to do this for their sake. I know that you wish to be by my side and if this had happened twenty years ago, I don’t doubt you would be with me to any end. As it is now, we have to part.”

“I don’t _want_ to part from you,” you whispered into the fabric of his waistcoat. “How can I just leave you here to fight Jack by yourself?”

“I won’t be alone. Evie will arrive soon. I will keep my best Assassins close and remain hidden until then.”

When you said nothing in return, Jacob gently took your chin between thumb and forefinger and tipped your face upward.

“You have always been so brave, darling. Always been my bricky girl. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count,” Jacob murmured, swiping the pad of his thumb back and forth beneath the swell of your lip. You closed your eyes as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your lips. “Let me protect you, now, so that you can be brave for our children. They cannot lose us both because of this. You need to stay alive for them, if nothing else.”

You broke free of his hold and nestled into his chest, closing your eyes and focusing on how warm and solid he felt against you. There was nothing else that you could say. What was done was done and you would have to put aside how you felt and concentrate on what was necessary.

You still hated it.

 

Much to your relief, Jacob remained home the following day. Perhaps your comment about him looking for Jack alone had stuck in his mind. After breakfast he helped you sit Emmett and Alma down and explain the situation and that they would have to go with you to Crawley for a short while. They protested, as you’d known they would. Neither of them had been to Crawley and from what they had heard about it from Jacob and yourself, they weren’t eager to go. They whined and begged and even got angry, but Jacob did not bend to their demands to be allowed to stay. When they left the room in a huff after you told them to go pack one trunk of clothes each, stomping off to other parts of the house, Jacob visibly sagged in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing hard.

“Why do I feel like an utter prick for doing this?”

You frowned as you moved from your chair to sit upon his knee, tipping his face up so that you could stroke your thumbs over his cheeks. He was frowning and looked so worn out; it hurt to see.

“They’re only scared, darling. They’ll understand one day why you did this,” you said quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips.

Jacob sighed into the kiss but when you moved to pull away and console him, he chased your lips and kissed you again with more purpose. His left arm wound around your back and his hand settled on your thigh, holding you close so that he could lick into your mouth. Again, it was the most passion that he had shown since the morning that Evie’s letter had arrived, when he’d wanted to taste your cunt. Your tongue chased his back into his mouth and then your teeth caught his lower lip, pulling gently until he let out a soft, aching noise.

“ _Mother_! Emmett is trying to take my trunk because he can’t fit all of his ugly clothes into his own!”

“Yes, well, I need room for my cane swords! She’s the baby of the family! Why does she have the larger trunk?”

“They’re the same size! Maybe you should stop acting like such a pompous git and leave your canes here! You’re not a Master, in case you’d forgotten.”

The sound of a squabble and loud, coarse language drifted down from overhead. You groaned and leaned your forehead against your husband’s.

“Heaven help me,” you whispered against Jacob’s lips. He chuckled softly and slid his hand over the curve of your hip and ass as you stood from his lap. His gaze was still heated and hungry as he looked up at you.

“Go break them up, mummy. I’ll have my turn with you tonight,” he rumbled, standing as well and pulling you in for one more long, deep kiss that warmed you clear to your toes. “I’ll be in the study answering letters from Paris and New York, if you need anything.”

You smiled a little and nibbled at his lip, trailing your fingers down his chest and belly before letting your hands fall back to your sides.

“If I need a few kisses in between walloping children, I’ll track you down, Mister Frye.”

The process of packing went smoothly once you’d chased Emmett back to his own room and told him to choose _one_ cane sword to take along. The children were quiet for the rest of the afternoon, leaving you with the chance to pack your own clothes and other necessities. Three pairs of trousers, three waistcoats, five plain, white button down shirts, one extra overcoat apart from the one you would wear for the journey, and as many pairs of socks and underthings as you could fit in. You toyed with the idea of packing a day gown for when your other clothes were being washed and hung to dry, but decided against it. Jacob was the only person you liked to be around when you were dressed so softly. You packed a dressing gown instead, using it to wrap around your hand mirror and hair brush and a little tin of face powder.

And, though you felt like a fool for doing so, you grabbed one of the framed photographs from the day you’d married Jacob that hung upon the wall. You were stood together before some ridiculous velvet curtain, your hand rested in the crook of Jacob’s elbow. Despite the serious expressions you both wore, you remembered with utmost clarity how delighted you had been at the moment the photo had been taken. Smiling a little, you nestled the picture amongst your clothing before closing the trunk and locking it. The photo wasn’t much in the face of your worry but it would provide some solace when you did find yourself alone in Crawley.

Though you’d been worried that Emmett and Alma would be prickly and grumpy with their father for the remainder of the day, when you told them to go wash their faces and dress for bed, they hurried not to obey but to go fling their arms around Jacob where he was sitting, writing in a journal. He looked surprised, apparently also anticipating more cold shoulder, but recovered and hugged them both until they were smushed together in his embrace and giggling.

“We’re rising early in the morning, so no dallying. Straight to sleep,” Jacob said, planting a kiss to each of their temples and releasing them. “I love you little urchins.”

“I love you too, father,” Emmett replied dutifully, and Alma echoed his sentiment sweetly. You herded them out of the room with a backward glance and smile to your husband, who watched the three of you go with a smile that was fond and yet tinged with sadness.

“I’ll be in our room, darling, when you’ve finished,” he called after you, and though his tone was simply informing, you remembered in a flash his words from earlier. Perhaps you hurried the children along with a little more vigor than you usually would have, but you did still have enough wits to know that Jacob was waiting and that he was hungry for his wife.

When you returned to your bedroom after making sure both the children were washed and tucked into bed, and that the guard was stationed at their doors, Jacob was leaned against the windowsill and looking down upon the street below. His undershirt was hanging open on his stout frame, giving you full view of the dark hair trailing from his broad chest to his muscled yet soft belly. At the sound of the door opening and shutting he turned to look at you and smiled, striding over without pause to take you by the waist and pull you to the bed. You had felt the heat of his touches and kisses all day long after you’d parted to go deal with the children, and so you’d forgone a nightgown beneath your dressing gown when you’d changed earlier. Splayed out on the bed beneath Jacob as he toyed with the sash around your waist, you were glad you’d chosen to dress lightly. You craned your neck upward, seeking a kiss as you took one of his hands and guided it into your gown, sighing as his pressed his lips to yours and cupped the swell of one breast in his hand.

“No nightgown? Twenty years on and you’re still a little minx,” Jacob breathed into the kiss, fingers pinching lightly at the stiff bud of your nipple. Heat surged up your spine and settled upon your cheeks, and you took Jacob’s lower lip between your teeth and tugged until he groaned faintly.

“You love it,” you murmured, hands moving up to push the loose fabric of Jacob’s shirt back off of his shoulders.

The knowledge that this would be the last time he got to touch and taste and fuck you for some time seemed to be at the forefront of Jacob’s thoughts. His kisses were deep and biting from your lips to your neck, his hands impatient. He tugged your dressing gown open with ease and slid his mouth down to suck and nibble at your breasts, his rough hands smoothing over your belly and hips and shoving your thighs apart without preamble. The action made you gasp and arch your back, hands flitting from his chest to his shoulders to his hair and chasing the biting heat of his mouth as he shifted his attention from one breast to the other. His teeth scraped over and bit at your nipples, leaving them flushed and hard and sensitive to every touch he gave them. You could feel your face and neck heating up, turning red, and Jacob grinned up at you as he mouthed down over your stomach.

Before you knew it he was settled between your legs upon his belly. He kissed up and up the inside of your thigh, teasing with a hint of teeth until he reached the tender crease of your thigh and groin. He gently bit down, sucking as if he meant to mark you, and the sensation on such thin skin made you whimper and reach a hand down and lace your fingers into his hair. Your hips arched a bit, brushing the dark, damp curls of your hair against his cheek and jaw. Jacob got the message and without preamble he used his fingers to spread your cunt open. His lips gently closed around the flushed skin of your labia, suckling gently and pulling and nibbling at them until a shivering moan bubbled up from your chest. You loved it when he did that, kissed and toyed with every part of you and not just your clit.

Not that his attention there was unwelcome, either, you thought briefly as your spine arched and your head fell back into a pillow. Jacob’s tongue slowly licked up and up, over the soaked entrance to your cunt and circling your clit before laving over the hard bud of it. Heat skittered along your nerves and settled in your cheeks and belly, your other hand joining the first to stroke and pull at Jacob’s hair. The merciless, quick rhythm that the flat of his tongue set as it rubbed back and forth over your clit paired with huffing, hot breaths against your wet flesh was devastating. Your mouth opened to call his name but all that came out was a keening sound that made Jacob growl.

Still, the noise encouraged him to shift a hand down from where he’d been palming over your sides to ease two of his thick fingers into your cunt. This dance was so familiar, so well practiced. Jacob knew your body both inside and out, knew where and how to touch you to make you melt. In hardly any time at all he had you poised tremulously upon the edge of release, his mouth devouring you while his fingers stroked and rubbed and pressed mercilessly into that tender spot inside of you that made pressure and heat build and build until it boiled over. A choked cry caught in your throat as you jerked and shuddered through your release, thighs snapping shut around Jacob’s head and fingers digging into his scalp. You felt his tongue ease slightly but he kept suckling at you to help ease you through your orgasm, fingers caressing your tight inner muscles.

When the strongest shudders and loudest cries tapered off and you were slumped back onto the bed, Jacob withdrew his fingers and pressed a tender, chaste kiss to the wet folds of your cunt. You gave him a fond smile as he looked up at you, and when he crawled upward you raised your head to give him the kiss he clearly sought. His lips were slick with your release and you tasted yourself on his tongue, and it sent renewed hunger coursing through your body. However, as you slid a hand down his chest and belly and palmed over the thick line of his hard cock still confined within his trousers, Jacob grabbed your wrist and pinned it beside your head. Surprised and a bit confused, you tilted your head and licked your lips as he gazed down at you.

“Don’t you want my mouth?”

“Not this round. I’m rather eager to have my cock buried in that lovely cunt of yours,” he whispered, closing the gap between his lips and yours and kissing you long and slow.

When he pulled back you saw his free hand working the buttons of his trousers open. Once the garment hung loosely about his hips, Jacob stood upright and pushed his trousers and cotton drawers down his legs and kicked them aside. His cock was hard, flushed thick and dark at the head with blood and curving slightly towards his belly. As he moved back onto the bed and knelt between your legs, you snuck a hand down to curl your fingers around him, marveling at the impossible softness of his foreskin as you stroked him, gently pushing the skin back to reveal the rest of his length.

A low, rumbling noise sounded in Jacob’s chest at your touch, his hips rolling forward to fuck into the snug circle of your fingers for a moment. The soft brush of your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock seemed to pull him from his pleasured reverie. He slid a hand underneath you, gripping the swell of your ass and bodily hauling you up, shoving you higher on the bed until your head was nestled among the pillows. He swatted your discarded dressing gown aside and grinned fleetingly, walking his fingers along your thighs as he nudged them wide open and settled over you. When he lowered his face, seeking your lips with his, you met him halfway and slid your arms up around his neck as he gently nibbled and sucked at your lips. The smooth, blunt head of his cock nudging against you sent a thrill up your spine, and when Jacob canted his hips just so and the thick length of him pressed into your cunt, your mouth fell open to let an aching, hungry moan escape. Your husband fared no better, his forehead thudding to rest against yours as he exhaled tremulously onto your lips.

The first hard, claiming thrust he made into you after a slow, teasing withdrawal made you cry out in surprise, then again and again as he set a demanding pace. A rough, base groan was all you received in response. Jacob leaned down to kiss you, catching your lip between his teeth and tugging enough to make you squirm and arch your back. Then he kissed you, rough and possessive as he brought a hand up to grip your hair while the other slapped the curve of your thigh as he pushed your leg higher around his middle. The bruising pressure of his kiss caused your nerves to cry out in protest as his lips scraped over the split in your lip, causing the thin layer of healed skin to crack. Jacob realized what he’d done before you could react, pulling away and furrowing his brows, hips faltering slightly. You whimpered, not in pain but from the loss of his thick cock ramming into your body, spreading your cunt open and making delicious heat and tension build and coil in your belly.

“Damn it...I’m sorry,” he breathed heavily, touching the corner of your lips with his thumb. “You’re bleeding.”

“I don’t care. Kiss me,” you replied shakily. Jacob licked his lips and studied you for a long moment before allowing you to pull him down once more by his hair. This time when he kissed you he growled and licked into your mouth at the gasping moan. His thrusts into you became brutal and pounding once more and you shuddered beneath the unyielding weight of his body.

It became a feral give and take of bites and kisses, your nails setting themselves upon the sweat slick curve of Jacob’s spine and raking downward to make him groan and jerk your head back so that he could sink his teeth into your throat. The harsh clamp of his mouth on your windpipe sent a rush of arousal pulsing through you. He was determined, rutting into you and taking and taking what he wanted. The force of his thrusts made your hips ache and your lungs burn as you gasped and gasped for air that seemed impossible to get. Every inward push of him into you knocked your breath right back out of your chest again. Everything felt too hot and hard and sharp, your legs and belly going tight and muscles trembling. The merciless press and stroke of his cock against the soft, sensitive spot in your cunt forced another searing wave of heat to skitter along your nerves, your body growing hot and flushed. Rather than beg mercy, you deliberately clenched tight around his cock and let out a ragged moan of his name. Jacob rewarded you by dropping his head down to close his lips around one of your nipples, scraping the edge of his teeth over the flushed, hard peak and sucking until your back was arching from the mattress.

Another rush of heat moving up your spine and diffusing across your face was a sudden warning that you were nearing your end. You breathed Jacob’s name and panted quickly, chasing the release that was so infuriatingly close. You wanted to moan and cry and wail aloud, guards be damned; keeping silent when it felt this good, when you knew you’d have to go without Jacob’s touch for some time was unbearable. Jacob knew it, too, and he pushed your head to the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Bite down...bite down, love,” Jacob urged in a gasping breath, and when you did as he said and sank your teeth into his shoulder he groaned and dug his fingers into your lower back.

It was overwhelming and painful but it was exquisite. You didn’t want a soft, hazy memory of hopeful gentleness. You wanted the sharpness, the frustration and the determination of Jacob imprinted on your skin as shadowy bruises in the shapes of his teeth and fingers, held within the cradle of your pelvis tomorrow whenever you felt a faint ache within you from his frantic rutting between your thighs. You just wanted him. Always.

Your jumbled thoughts were too much, suddenly. The agonizing tension and heat that had built and built in your stomach finally boiled over. Your wailing, desperate cry was muffled by Jacob’s shoulder as you trembled and fell apart, pinned beneath him. He fucked into you fast and hard despite your inner muscles clutching at his cock and trying to keep him deep inside. The bite of your nails upon the curve of his lower back and the flexing muscle of his ass spurred Jacob onward. You heard the headboard give a faint creak of protest as Jacob leaned his weight into it, his palm splayed against it, hips snapping forward with a more impatient, needy rhythm now.

When Jacob began to make those soft, hitched and aching noises in his throat that signalled his impending release, he slowed his hips and moved to withdraw from you as had been habit since the birth of your daughter. Two children had been enough, Jacob not wanting to risk a third pregnancy for the sake of your own health. Tonight, though...your heels dug into his lower back to stop him, muscles clenching tight around his cock as you made a whimpering noise of protest. Jacob let out a stuttering breath and leaned his forehead to yours, tension creeping into his shoulders as he held himself back from release.

“ _Darling_ ,” Jacob gasped feverishly, giving you his best pleading look. “I can’t...I need to--”

“Inside,” you whispered fitfully, pressing desperate little kisses to his lips and chin. “I want it. _Please_.”

Jacob responded by kissing you messily from your lips to the sweat slick column of your throat. The hand not splayed on the headboard came up to tangle in your hair, gripping hard and tilting your head so that he could dig his teeth into your neck as he fucked into you at a demanding pace. It did not take more than another minute for his staved off orgasm to return in full force and claim him. Jacob’s muscles stiffened and quaked as he growled against your skin, hips grinding into yours as he spilled within you. The heat of his seed and the animalistic way he clutched and bit you made you cry out in raw pleasure and arch up from the bed. You brushed your fingertips up the tense bow of his back, kissing his temple in between appreciative sighs and murmurs.

When you finally relaxed your legs around Jacob and he was able to withdraw from your body, he remained knelt between your thighs and turned his attention downward. You bit your lip and nuzzled your cheek into your pillow as his rough fingertips stroked over the come slick flesh of your cunt. Jacob made a low, rumbling noise as he gathered the sticky white mess of his release and pushed it back inside of you.

“I bloody love doing this,” he mumbled, almost to himself. You smiled and arched your spine languidly, eyes fluttering shut as you basked in the deliciously naughty attention. Twenty years had done little to tame Jacob’s desires when it came to bedding you. He was as carnal now as he’d been when you married him and it delighted you.

Jacob slipped one, then two fingers into you and ever so gently caressed your spent muscles. Your belly fluttered at the stirrings of new pleasure at his touch and your hips canted upward on their own accord.

“What...what time is it?” You asked breathlessly through an aching moan. Jacob hardly paused in his action as he glanced towards his open pocket watch on the bedside table.

“Nearly eleven. Why?”

You licked your lips and propped yourself up onto your elbows, shifting your leg so that you could press a foot against Jacob’s stomach. The rough scratch of the dark hair trailing down his stomach against the bottom of your foot made you smile.

“I could do with another hour or two of this before we go to sleep. That’s all.”

The _please, let me have as much of you as I can before I’m forced to leave you_ went unspoken, but the sentiment was heavy in the air between you.

Jacob smiled and gripped your ankle, drawing your leg aside so that he could lean down and kiss your belly. As he ghosted his lips up to your breasts, teasing your nipples with kisses and bites, his fingers withdrew from your cunt. He brought them to your lips, soaked with his release and your own, and you sucked them in eagerly. The sharp, salty flavor made you moan, mouth watering as you laved your tongue over the thick digits. Jacob’s breath hitched as he watched you suckle his fingers clean, his eyes going dark. He licked his lips and pulled his hand away, leaning down to kiss you hard.

“Anything for my girl,” Jacob muttered hotly just before he gripped you by the hip and turned you over onto your belly. The hot, wicked trail his lips and tongue made down the length of your spine as his rough hands gripped your ass made you bury your face into a pillow and let out an aching moan.

And yet, even as fresh pleasure thrilled up your spine and skittered across your nerves, a pained voice of protest sounded in the back of your mind. Another two hours wouldn’t be nearly enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Before four in the morning you awoke to a gentle hand upon your shoulder shaking you and a low voice telling you to get up and that they had brought tea for you. It hardly felt as if you’d slept a wink and you looked around your bedroom groggily as you sat upright. Jacob had already moved away, over to the table beside the settee to pour a second cup of tea. He was dressed in plain black trousers and a white shirt with a deep blue waistcoat. His black sash already wound around his middle.

“I thought we should wake the children together,” Jacob said as he stirred a splash of milk and a lump of sugar into your cup before returning to your side.

You took the offered drink with a faint nod, looking down into the dark liquid with a sleepy frown. Jacob walked out of your range of vision though you heard him digging through one of the drawers inside his armoire. A moment later he returned to the bed, crawling onto it to sit beside you.

“It’s not much but I’ve got something I’d like you to take with you,” Jacob began, holding his hand out to you as he did. When you turned your gaze away from the tea, you were greeted by the old, worn shilling necklace that Jacob had sported in his youth. You’d assumed it lost years ago. To see it again and under such circumstances made your stomach twist and throat tighten a little. You reached out and stroked a fingertip over the coin, recalling how many times you’d toyed with it as it hung about Jacob’s neck.

“Hold your hair up off of your neck and I’ll put it on for you,” Jacob offered in a hopeful voice. You nodded and managed a little smile for his sake as you swept your locks up into one hand and held them against the back of your head.

It was _the_ day and it would be hard for everyone. Jacob was clearly doing all that he could to make the separation easier; the least you could do in return was be amiable. You sipped carefully at your tea while your husband slipped the leather cord about your neck, his fingers brushing your skin as he tied the loose ends together in a secure knot. The shilling was cool against your bare skin where it sat at the base of your throat but its presence was comforting.

“Thank you, Jacob,” you sighed, turning your head to look at him as he leaned in to press a kiss to the line of your shoulder. He hummed fondly and pecked you on the lips, his fingers wandering down the naked expanse of your back.

“I do love to look at you starkers, darling,” Jacob murmured, kissing you once more and smiling, “but perhaps you should get dressed. We’re on a tight schedule this morning.”

The reminder made your stomach drop a little and Jacob saw the frown forming at your lips. He wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace before releasing you so that he could move off of the bed.

You stood a moment later and went to your own armoire, pulling out a violet colored waistcoat and white undershirts to pair with black trousers and boots. You took out your favorite coat, silvery grey with crimson red upon the back of the hood and down the length of your spine and the edges of the split of the tails. Your husband let you get dressed without any further teasing, busy finishing his tea and strapping on his belts and hidden blade. Once your eyes were lined and your hair was brushed back and wound into a neat braid, you went to stand behind Jacob where he sat before the hearth. He let out a low hum as your hands kneaded the muscle on either side of his neck before smoothing down the plane of his chest and belly. You pressed a lingering kiss against the shell of his ear and sighed.

“Shall we wake the children?”

One of Jacob’s hands found yours and he twined your fingers together, holding tight even as he nodded. It was still some time yet before either of you made a move towards the door.

Given the early hour, Emmett and Alma were only partially awake as they dressed and trudged downstairs to pile into the carriage. You handed them a heavy quilt and told them to go back to sleep if they wished, as it would be a little while before they needed to get out again. Though they had argued the day before, Emmett leaned in the corner of one bench seat and let Alma snuggle against him, her eyes already closing again as he shook the quilt open and draped it over their forms. Behind the carriage, Jacob was hoisting the final trunk up onto the luggage rack and securing it in place atop the other two. When you came around to stand beside him, he glanced at you with a shuttered expression.

“Are you all ready, then?”

“The children are in the carriage,” you muttered, reaching out to take one of his hands into your own. It was a cold morning and so both of you wore gloves. You wished you could feel his skin against yours. Last night hadn’t been enough. Not even by half.

“Are _you_ ready?” Jacob asked softly, tightening his hold on your hand and bringing his other one to rest upon your cheek.

“No,” you whispered, earnest and truthful and hurt. Jacob made a soft, sympathetic tutting sound and drew you in against his chest, tucking his face into your hair.

“I’m not, either, love...so let’s be off.”

The bridge across the Thames was deserted save for merchant and delivery carts at such an early hour, allowing for your carriage to move along at a decent clip. Jacob looked broody and sullen from what little of his expression you could see around the edge of his hood. You frowned and reached over to rest a hand upon his forearm, feeling the tension of his muscles beneath his sleeve. Jacob shifted the reins into one hand and rested his free one atop yours, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.

It took perhaps twenty minutes to reach the very edge of London, where the scenery stretching out before consisted of only pitch dark countryside and a beaten down dirt road rather than industrial buildings and cobblestone lined with gaslights. You didn’t know how far outside of London the escort would be and the prospect of riding all the way to Crawley in a bumping, swaying carriage was decidedly unpleasant.

“We could not have taken a train? It’s much faster.”

Jacob shook his head and glanced sideways at you. Even with the faint lighting from the single lantern hanging on the front left corner of the carriage, you could see his frown.

“No. I don’t want you three stuck on a train by yourselves. There are too many people and if I can’t be there to protect you...there’s too much risk involved.”

His fear and anxiety and paranoia was showing again, but you could also see the merit behind his worry. After all, you could handle jumping from a moving locomotive. Emmett and Alma, on the other hand...

“You’re right. The carriage may be slower but it will be safe.”

Jacob nodded but said nothing, though the furrow of his brows eased a tad, and when you settled close enough to him to lean your head against his shoulder you felt the quick, soft pressure of a kiss pressed to your hair. Neither of you said much else as you swiftly left London behind.

When Jacob guided the horses around a bend in the road, your eyes settled upon twin dots of light in the darkness. You reached for your pistol out of reflex but Jacob hummed and shook his head, drawing the reins back towards his chest to slow the horses to a brisk walk.

“It’s the Assassins. Nothing to fret about.”

True enough, the carriage came into view through the darkness as your own drew to a halt a short distance away. Two cloaked and hooded figures stood beside the other team of four horses. They approached readily as Jacob dropped the reins and hopped down to the ground. You followed suit, moving around the horses to stand beside Jacob as one of the figures, a woman, stopped before you. A pointed chin and thin lips set in a line were visible beneath the hood. She wore a knee length coat emblazoned with the Brotherhood symbol on the lapels.

“Masters Frye,” the woman greeted formally, voice crisp with an English lilt. “You’re early. There was no trouble on the road, I presume?”

“None at all. We weren’t followed,” Jacob said stiffly.

“Your children came along? We were told to expect them as well,” the second Assassin who stood back a short distance, inquired in a low, baritone voice. Your gaze flickered to him and you nodded.

“Yes. Our son and daughter. They will—”

“Mother?”

The sound of Emmett’s voice made you turn around, spotting him leaning out from around the open carriage door. Alma was peeking around the curve of his shoulder. They both looked cautious but intrigued at the sight of the other Assassins. You smiled reassuringly and turned to look back at the others.

“As I meant to say, my children will need some help moving their luggage, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The two Assassins nodded amicably and went around to the back of the carriage to begin unloading the trunks. Once you were sure they were busy, you moved in closer to Jacob and lowered your voice to a whisper.

“Why can you not come with us? At least until Evie arrives to help you.”

You asked desperately for what seemed like the hundredth time. Jacob sighed and took you by the elbow, drawing you away from the children as they tried to help move their luggage from one carriage to another. He took your hand into his and held it tight, then, fixing you with a helpless stare.

“ _Please_ , darling...I arranged safe harbor for the three of you under the condition that I remain in London. The Council in Crawley is restless and impatient and they do not much care for me, but I was able to convince them that having my family out of the city would allow me to begin a more aggressive pursuit of Jack,” Jacob said in a quick, hushed voice. “If I abandon the London Brotherhood now, I fear that will be cast out from the Assassins. Do you understand? I cannot leave, no matter how badly my heart wants me to follow after you. I will not bring shame upon you and our children by being branded as a deserter.”

The outrage you felt at the injustice of the situation must have bloomed upon your face. Jacob shushed you softly before you could begin swearing and ranting aloud and ducked his head to lean his forehead to yours, cupping your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“We both must toe the line carefully. Our position in London hangs in the balance as much as our lives do. While you are in Crawley, please do your best to remain unnoticed. My neck is already upon the chopping block and I’m...I’m afraid. I want to provide a life and a high station in this world but I—”

“If anyone dares imply that you deserve to be replaced as leader in London, I will not hesitate to defend you,” you whispered fiercely. Jacob smiled, tired but fond, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I don’t doubt that a bit. All the same...play nicely. If our Brotherhood is destroyed and I am lost, Crawley will be the only ally you have left in England.”

The sound of a carriage door closing burst the private bubble around the pair of you. You glanced over to see Emmett and Alma standing beside the Assassin carriage, looking unsure as to what to do. The other Masters were standing aside, though they did not look impatient at the stalling.

“Come here,” Jacob said at last, holding his arms out in search of an embrace.

Though she was smaller, Alma beat her brother to Jacob and fairly flung herself into his arms. You heard one sharp little gasp from her as she tucked her face into Jacob’s chest but it was enough to know that she was crying. Jacob frowned and brought a hand up to rub her back soothingly, lowering his head to kiss her hair.

“It won’t be forever, dove,” Jacob said gently, coaxing his daughter to look up at him. He swiped a tear from her wet cheek with his thumb and offered a faint smile. “I only need to make sure you’re all safe. It’ll all be over soon and then you’ll be back home.”

Alma looked utterly heartbroken despite the consolation. Jacob, with patience only acquired from years of fatherhood, knelt down and took her hands into his.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Miss Frye. I know that you’ve been wanting to learn how to fight like Emmett for some time. I’ve been horribly unfair by refusing you and making you stick to your books. You’re not a baby any more, as much as it pains me to admit,” Jacob said ruefully. “When you come home, we’ll start training together. I’ve got plenty of old weapons that you can use. Would you like that?”

Despite the tears, Alma nodded quickly and wiped the sleeve of her coat over her eyes to dry them.

“Yes, father,” Alma replied through a sniffle. “I want to be fearsome like you and mother.”

Jacob smiled, albeit tremulously, and nodded before kissing her cheek and pulling her in for one more hug.

“You already are. You’re the most fearsome girl in London...but I’m sure you’d love to learn how to give any chap that bothers you a good walloping,” Jacob said, bumping his knuckles under her chin until she gave him a weak smile. “I love you, sweetling. Let me say goodbye to your brother, now.”

You’d been so caught up in watching Jacob comfort his youngest child that you’d forgotten for a moment that Emmett was stood off to the side. Once his sister had relinquished her hold on Jacob and moved away, he approached with stiff steps and a deeply furrowed brow. Despite the scowl, his eyes were wet. Jacob studied him seriously where he was still knelt and then stood, reaching out to take the boy by his shoulders.

“Do you want to cry?”

Emmett’s brows furrowed impossibly deeper and he shook his head angrily.

“No,” he bit out.

The wavering of his voice said otherwise. Jacob’s lips twitched as if he wanted to grin and he gave the boy a gentle shake.

“It’s all right to cry,” Jacob said soothingly, drawing Emmett in and hugging him tight. “Even Assassins shed tears. I cried when you and your sister were born. I cried when you were three and had an awful fever and had to stay in the hospital for a week. I...I’ve cried over the women we’ve lost in London.”

The eldest child leaned his forehead against Jacob’s broad chest and though he chewed his lip to stay quiet, tears streamed down his cheeks regardless. Jacob must have felt the suppressed shudders of sobs in the boy’s shoulders because he gave you a distressed sideways glance. You weren’t much help, hand over your mouth to hide the tremble of your own lips. Before Jacob could think of anything else to say that might calm the boy, Emmett looked up into his father’s face with a fierce expression.

“If Jack kills you, I will train and train until I can avenge you. I promise, father.  _I swear_. I won’t let him draw breath any longer than I must.”

That seemed to be the final dagger to the heart that had been needed to bring Jacob to tears at last. He clutched at his son’s face, shaking his head as he swallowed hard around a stricken breath.

“Oh, my boy. I only want you to be safe. I want you to have opportunity to grow up and build friendships. Perhaps fall in love and have a family. To become a Master and Mentor to your own Initiates. You have it in you. Both of my children do. I believe you’ll both be bloody brilliant and I’m going to do whatever is necessary to make sure you have a good life,” Jacob said in a rush, blinking against his own tears. He drew the boy in to bump their foreheads together. “I don’t need you to avenge me. I don’t want my son to give up his future and happiness in my memory. That’d be incredibly unfair of me to demand. I won’t ask for it.”

Emmett seemed to be having little luck reigning in his emotions and he wept openly when Jacob wrapped him in a crushing embrace. Your son had grown up with an admiration for his father that Jacob had never had for Ethan Frye. In return, Jacob had gone above and beyond his duties as a father to make sure Emmett understood his role in the Brotherhood but also knew his own worth as a person and as Jacob’s son. They were thick as thieves and spent great deals of time together, whether it be training or free running on the rooftops, playing card games or pulling tricks on others. You watched Jacob close his eyes and stroke a hand over his son’s shaggy locks, his chest rising and falling with a deep, steadying breath.

When Emmett was finally coaxed away by his sister upon your command, you helped Jacob usher them into the waiting carriage. The children went without a fuss, clearly doing their best to behave and not upset either of their parents. Once they were settled across from each other, you felt Jacob take you by the hand and pull you away a short distance. He studied you for a moment, then brought your hand to his lips.

“I love you, darling,” Jacob said quietly. He stepped in closer and cradled your face in his free hand, thumbing over the line of your cheekbone. His gaze betrayed his collected expression; it held as much desperation as you currently felt within yourself.

“I love you,” you whispered, clutching hard at Jacob’s face. You took in the fine lines around his eyes and lips, caused by years of laughing and grinning like a fiend. The green and golden brown of his gaze was as beautiful as it had been when he was twenty. Fear suddenly gripped you and made you throat tighten. “I love you. Don’t you leave me. Don’t leave us.”

“Not for the world,” Jacob replied in earnest. He leaned in and kissed you hard, his fingers wrapping gently about your wrists and easing your hands from his face. “Go now, love. Lingering will only hurt you all more. I will see you again.”

You wanted to say something, his name or more pleading words for him to find a way out of London. Deep in your heart you knew it was no use, and so you simply turned and clambered up into the dark interior of the carriage. Jacob closed the door behind you and when you had settled beside Emmett and looked back out the window, you saw him press his hand against the glass with a longing look. Even with the low light of the lanterns hanging from the carriage, the gleam in his eyes was obvious. Without thinking you pressed your hand to the window, matching your fingers with his. The action coaxed a weak smile from the man outside, and then he turned his head and you saw his lips move as he spoke to the driver and gave a slight nod.

The two of you were allowed one more look, one more nod of reassurance and promise that you would be reunited, before the carriage lurched into motion and Jacob’s hand fell away from yours.

 

Your arrival at the Brotherhood in Crawley was met with as little pomp and circumstance as you’d expected. The manor that served as a cover for the Brotherhood headquarters looked the same as it had when you’d been twenty, big and sprawling and white out in the countryside. As the carriage rocked and jolted up the muddy drive, you gently shook Emmett awake. Alma hadn’t been able to sleep, opting instead to gaze morosely out the window as the damp, grey countryside slowly crept by.

When the carriage came to a standstill on the circle drive before the front steps of the manor, you could see two hooded figures posted at either side of the front door. A third stood at the top of the steps, hands clasped behind their back as they looked on from under the hood of their midnight blue overcoat. Apparently your arrival wouldn’t go entirely unnoticed after all. As you pushed the carriage door open, the figure swept down the steps and over to offer a hand of assistance so that you didn’t slip in the mire that the rain had turned the drive into. You could see a square jaw and narrow chin covered in dark blonde stubble, a glint of pale blue eyes, but the man didn’t offer to remove his hood.

“Madame Frye,” he said in a smooth voice. Not English, your mind supplied at the strange accent. American. Perhaps that was why he’d been so polite as to offer his hand; he wasn’t from Crawley. They hadn’t had opportunity to poison his mind. Not yet, anyway. “Charles Roe of the American Brotherhood. I’ve been told to escort you to the Council chamber upon your arrival.”

You raised your brows incredulously and glanced back at your children, who stood behind you with wary expressions.

“Can’t we see to our luggage first? Perhaps have breakfast? My children haven’t had the opportunity to eat yet today.”

“I’m only following the request from Master Osborne, madame,” Charles said hesitantly, lips turning downward with a faint frown. “I’ve no real authority, here. He’ll have more answers for you than I.”

“I’m sure he will,” you said coldly, anger tightening its grip within you. “Very well, Mister Roe. Lead the way.”

Master Osborne wasn’t a stranger. He’d been in Crawley when you’d left for London. He was fifteen years your senior and an incredibly talented Assassin, though his personality left much to be desired. Of course he was on the Council. He had to have been one of the oldest members of the Brotherhood by now. Something told you he was as much of an ass now as he’d been two decades ago.

The inside of the manor was finely furnished, if a bit old in appearance. Mister Roe led the three of you through the main hallway and around a corner. A rather plain looking door sat on the righthand side, opposite of the stairwell to the upper floor of the manor. You knew better, though, and when Charles opened it to reveal a stone landing and then a flight of stairs that went down and down until they turned and went out of sight, the children let out little sounds of surprise and wonder.

“Mind your step,” you warned them over your shoulder as you strode along behind the man. “This stairwell is a bit steep.”

The cautious, quiet air that had surrounded the children since you had arrived was blown right away when they rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and found themselves in a grand hallway cut right into the stone of the earth beneath the manor. They let out twin sounds of utter awe and hurried over to a nearby bannister, leaning over it to peer down into the depths of the lower levels of the headquarters. You smiled a little, glad that they had something to marvel at, but you had to hurry them along as Mister Roe hardly paused, taking another stairwell and descending to the next floor.

“It’s just through here, madame,” Charles said as you all drew near to another arched, open doorway that branched off to the right. He paused and nodded respectfully in farewell once the children had caught up, but he did pause and add: “I am some distance from my own Brotherhood but if we can provide assistance in any way against Jack the Ripper, I will send word straight away. I know that we can spare a handful of Assassins to come over and aid you.”

You looked at him with mouth slightly ajar, startled and humbled by his kindness. He didn’t know you; he had no reason to be bothered by the struggles of the London Brotherhood. Then again, he was not of Crawley stock.

“I’m afraid any help from America will come some weeks too late, Mister Roe. We’re already holding out for an ally to arrive from India,” you sighed heavily, holding out your hand for him to shake. “But you are a fine man for making such an offer. Thank you.”

The man smiled, gave you and the children one more little nod, and then turned and hurried off down the corridor. Once he was gone, you looked down the hallway to the big door that led to the Council chamber. A guard stood at either side of it, silent and unmoving.

“Do we have to go in, too?” Alma asked unhappily as she peered around you, eyeing the guards. You looked at her and then to Emmett and shook your head, holding an arm out to herd them out of the middle of the hallway.

“Sit right here,” you told them firmly, motioning to a bench carved into the stone of the wall. “Don’t talk to anyone about London or your father. I won’t be gone long and then I’ll find you something to eat.”

Once the children promised to obey and took a seat, you turned and strode down the hallway towards the large, heavy wooden door to the chamber. The guards on either side hardly glanced at you as you approached, grabbed the door’s ornate, brass handle and pushed it open.

The Council chamber looked exactly as you remembered, lit with oil lamps and carved out of grey stone with marble flooring. It was lavishly decorated with wine red tapestries finely stitched with the Brotherhood’s symbol in golden thread. In London, a Council meeting took place in the hidden chamber beneath the manor, where Edward Kenway had hidden his treasures. The room had been expanded upon and a large, round table with twenty seats served as the meeting place. Though Jacob and you had designated seats at the table, everyone sat on equal terms, there. The same couldn’t be said here. The Council stood above you on a balcony that wrapped halfway around the chamber. There were no stairs on your level that would allow you to reach them if you desired. It was the height of arrogance, you felt, though you’d never voice the opinion. At that moment there were seven hooded, cloaked figures peering down upon you.

The centermost one you recognized at once as Master Osborne, even if he had aged like a leather saddlebag. His expression was icy, at best, but you held his gaze. There were no other Assassins in the room with you. Still, you refused to appear worried and moved to the center of the room, kneeling smoothly and bowing your head. The marble floor was cold, even through the fabric of your trousers.

“Master Assassin Frye of the London Brotherhood,” you said loudly enough for the Council above to hear. An oppressive silence followed and you were glad that your face was turned downward towards the floor so that they could not see you roll your eyes. This wasn’t your first time before a Council and you were hardly a Novice. There was no need for the dramatics.

Finally an even, female voice spoke from the balcony.

“You are recognized, Master Assassin Frye. You may stand.”

You did as told, clasping your hands behind yourself as you rose from the floor. More silence followed. Your gaze remained cast downward, worrying your tongue against the edge of your front teeth. You would not be frightened into speaking first and pleading for understanding. Thankfully, an old man who stood at the far left of the council caved before you did.

“Tell us of London. What have you seen of The Ripper’s work?”

“What I have seen is a nightmare,” you said, furrowing your brows and looking up from the floor. The council, save of course for Osborne, looked more intent than angry, so you continued. “Jack has mastered the art of a quick, quiet kill beyond anything I have seen in an Initiate and many Masters. It is impossible to know where and when he will strike. He is...brutal. Merciless. Jack has taken everything he has learned from the Assassins and twisted it to fit his dark intentions. I fear his skills and knowledge of the Assassin way combined with his madness makes him the biggest threat we have faced, even beyond the Templars.”

“How many have fallen at his blade?”

“Four Assassins that I know of. All women. Three of them were mutilated. Two had portions of their reproductive organs removed,” you replied, unable to help the angry edge that crept into your voice. The low murmur of whispered exchanges between some of the elders met your ears.

“What is possessing him to mutilate the dead?”

“I cannot say. Jack has always had a troubled mind, even as a young boy. He suffered great trauma as a child with the loss of his mother and then further abuse during his imprisonment in Lambeth Asylum. Perhaps it is only out of hatred for the London Brotherhood or a desire to invoke fear. We certainly never instructed him on removing a woman’s uterus when we trained him in India. His violence comes from a place that neither myself nor Jacob understand.”

The Council looked uneasy, even from your lower vantage point. You supposed the bloody details hadn’t been passed along when they’d received word of a rogue Assassin causing chaos in London. Feeling slightly braver now that everyone was uncomfortable, you cleared your throat and went on.

“My husband sent word to his sister, Evie Frye, some weeks ago. He asked for her help in putting an end to Jack’s actions and she has agreed to return from India to fight at his side. I believe Evie is the best hope we may have of stopping Jack before he begins to extend his control to the other boroughs.”

At least a few of the Council members nodded in approval and seemed intrigued at this news. You said silent thanks to Evie wherever she was for leaving such a sterling reputation behind in England. Perhaps her presence would calm the Council and give Jacob more time.

Suddenly Osborne cleared his throat, leaning forward so that he might peer down at you with ease. You wanted to hit him right on the cleft of his square chin.

“In the event that the Frye twins fail and perish, who will the position of leader to the London Brotherhood fall to? Assuming there is a Brotherhood left once your rogue pupil has finished with it.”

Finally the old man had asked. Your hopeful thoughts vanished in the wake of irritation that boiled and threatened to burst like a great volcano. However, a warning voice immediately sprang to mind.

_Calm. He is testing you. He is looking for weakness, looking for ways that Jack has damaged your resolve and lessened your ability to react rationally to pressure. You must display strength and confidence. Don’t disappoint Jacob. He needs you to do battle for him here._

A slow, deep breath in and out steadied you and you squared your shoulders slightly.

“It will fall to me. I have served as second in command in London for two decades. I am a Master, in case you’d forgotten. I’ve mentored Initiates for nearly fifteen years. I will continue to serve in Jacob’s stead if I must until Jack is dead or I meet my own end at his hand,” you paused and looked up into the hooded face of the man where you knew his eyes were trained upon you, “as is my duty as an Assassin and wife, _sir_.”

You said nothing else but let the defiant upward tilt of your chin tell the Council that you had nothing further to add that wasn’t hostile. The man finally nodded and stepped back, motioning towards the door you had entered through.

“We will keep ears open for word out of London and pass any messages from Jacob or Evie on to you. There is an Assassin waiting in the hall with your children to show you to your lodgings,” he said dismissively. “The Council is dissolved—”

“Master Osborne,” you cut in quickly, dropping all pretense of formality and stepping forward. “My children need to eat. Where might I find something for them?”

For a beat he said nothing, but his expression showed how tired he was already of having to house you and your offspring.

“The kitchen in the manor above us serves breakfast in little less than one hour from now. You may take them up to dine then.”

With that, he turned and strode back from the balcony bannister until he was out of sight. You stood in place while the Council members turned to leave the chamber through another exit. Though you had succeeded in containing yourself, and it hadn’t been even half as severe of a verbal lashing as you’d anticipated, you still felt the simmer of annoyance in your mind. Part of you wanted to scream. To demand to know how any of the elders believed they could judge Jacob and his efforts when they were the ones who had remained hidden in Crawley twenty years ago despite urgent letters from Henry Green requesting help. None of them had been brave enough to take on Crawford Starrick like two novices barely out of their teenage years had. None of them had dismantled the Templar empire that had held for one hundred years against their pitiful efforts. Who, then, were they to pretend to be superior now? Now, when they should be offering aid, they instead sat and seemingly waited for Jacob to fall.

_They are bitter and jealous that they let their fears get in the way of their success against Starrick while two novices succeeded. Apparently the Creed and the bonds of Brotherhood mean little in the minds of the proud, old men of Crawley._

An ache in your jaw made you realize you were grinding your teeth together, still standing in the now empty, silent room. You spun on heel with a harsh exhale and strode for the door, flinging it open and stepping out into the hallway.

As Osborne had said, a figure was stood before your children. You could see only the back of their head and their closely cropped, silvery-white hair. There was a cane of dark wood and topped with a silver eagle head in their left hand. Neither of your children looked uncomfortable at the interaction which assuaged some worry, and when the figure turned their head to look back at you, relief immediately swept away the tension remaining from the council meeting.

“George Westhouse,” you breathed out, hurrying forward to embrace him without hesitation. He wound his arm not gripping his cane about your middle. You squeezed him tight and then pulled back to look at him properly. The short whiskers on his jaw and cheeks matched his hair. He was _old_ , you thought. The wrinkles at his eyes and upon his forehead were pronounced and he looked a bit more tired than you remembered. It took only a second to add up the years since you’d seen him last. He must have been close to seventy years of age.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” you said anyway with utmost sincerity. George smiled and moved his free hand up to your face, looking at you with a warm expression.

“The same to you. I haven’t seen you since Alma was just a little girl,” George said as he beamed. His attention flickered back over your shoulder towards the council chamber and his brows furrowed a little. “Is Jacob here with you?”

Confusion infiltrated your delight at seeing a familiar face.

“No, he’s...do you not know, George?”

George’s expression slowly shifted from curiosity to worry.

“I’ve been away for some months in America. I returned just a few days ago and hadn’t spoken with the Council until last night when they told me we’d have visitors from London. I heard plenty of rumors about what’s been happening in Whitechapel while I traveled home...has Jacob been hurt?”

“No,” you said sharply. “He struck a deal with the Council. He traded his safety for ours.”

George looked at you, confused and worried at once, and then he glanced towards the children and seemed to gather himself.

“Explain while we walk, hmm?”

Explain you did. You were thankful that George had been the one to be your escort to your quarters. He knew all too well that you’d never harbored much love for the Crawley way of life, and so as you ranted and mumbled angrily under your breath, hanging back some distance from the children so that they would not hear your choice words, he only sighed and nodded. It was clear that he wasn’t pleased with the fact Jacob had been made to stay behind, either.

You’d run out of unkind things to say about the Council and Master Osborne by the time you were a few floors down and standing before a plain looking door. George lifted his cane and rapped upon it three times with the eagle’s hooked beak and then stood back and waited. It took a moment before you heard some footsteps approaching and you steeled yourself. Apparently you would be sharing a space and you hoped it would be with someone kind. You didn’t want to fight with anyone here but if it came down to it, you would.

When the door swung open, you were greeted by a tall, dark eyed woman with brown skin and a softly curved, aquiline nose. She was dressed in Assassin clothing, soft beige overcoat and sage green tunic beneath, wrist blade on her right arm and richly colored red-orange sash about her waist that was pinned in place by a large, ornate Brotherhood symbol crafted of gold. The style was clearly not typical of English members of the Brotherhood. When you glanced downward and saw the lightweight, knee high boots on her feet, it suddenly clicked.

_India_. Your mind supplied a moment before the woman looked from George to the children to you and then smiled.

“You must be the company I was told to expect,” she said, offering you her hand and continuing as you shook it. “I am Sanjana Varma from the Indian Brotherhood. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madame Frye.”

“Likewise, Miss Varma,” you said, trying to rein in the surprise in your voice and reaching to guide your children front and center. “These are my children, Emmett and Alma. I hope you were told to expect them, too.”

“Oh, yes. Master Osborne told me as they were furnishing the second bedroom last night.”

You couldn’t help but look around her shoulder at that, surveying the living space. The door opened up into what you supposed was the sitting area, though the only real divider between it and the bedroom was the small hearth and a set of two wooden, three panel privacy screens. Opposite of the foot of the bed was another doorway. You could also see your luggage sitting beside it. That must have been the second room Sanjana spoke of.

“I’ll let you all get settled in, then,” George spoke up from behind you. He clasped your shoulder gently, sympathetically, and when you turned to give him a nod in farewell you saw the little furrow of his brow. “Hopefully this will be a short visit.”

“I hope so as well. Thank you, George,” you said quietly, turning away as he did to usher your children past Sanjana and into the room. It was at least pleasantly warm compared to the weather above ground, and it appeared that she had prepared a kettle of water for tea. One cup already sat on a table beside a chair, half filled with the dark brew and steaming.

All semblance of coziness was abruptly ripped away, however, when Sanjana opened up the other door and allowed you to peer into what would be your quarters. The second room, if it could be called that, was furnished with a bed that took up most of the space, an armoire, and a small powder table with a mirror. There wasn’t even a fireplace, which meant it would likely be an unpleasant night’s sleep unless you kept the door open to allow heat from Sanjana’s room to waft in.

_I bloody hate it here_ , you thought with a huff, setting your trunk down against the wall and stepping aside so that Sanjana and the children could do the same. Once her hands were free, the other Assassin moved back to stand in the doorway.

“I am sorry for the small space. They do not have many empty rooms here and I think I may have taken one of the few available when I arrived from India,” Sanjana said ruefully, clasping her hands together before her and sighing. “You are all free to use the sitting area of my quarters during the day. And the hip bath, of course.”

You considered the bed that had been provided for a moment and then looked sideways at your children. Neither of them seemed pleased with the prospect of sharing a single bed or with being crammed into a room of such size, but they remained silent. Remembering yourself, you turned halfway to look at the other woman over your shoulder. She seemed hopeful that her offer would make up for the poor lodgings.

“It wasn’t your doing that we’re in here, Miss Varma. You’ve nothing to apologize for. I’m sure we’ll take you up on your offer about the sitting area, though,” you said with a smile, turning back to your children and motioning towards their luggage. “Unpack your things. I will keep mine in my trunk so that you two can hang your clothes in the armoire.”

Once the children were preoccupied with their chore you followed after Sanjana into her quarters. She resumed her place in the chair beside the hearth and motioned for you to sit beside her.

“I would have thought you might have been allowed to stay in the manor above ground,” the other woman said with a thoughtful furrow of her brows. You let out a short, humorless laugh as you took a seat next to her.

“I think being stuck into a broom closet is the most I could hope for, unfortunately. I’m not well regarded by the elders of this Brotherhood. Nor is my husband.”

Sanjana’s brows crept towards her hairline and she tilted her head, curious.

“But you both worked alongside Evie Frye and Jayadeep Mir to end the Templar reign over London, didn’t you? Surely that’s a feat that was worth something to the Brotherhood.”

“We did. Against the will of the Council and the elders. They told Henry Green — Jayadeep, as you know him — and I to remain in London and be quiet and hidden despite our warnings of the growing dangers and the Templar plans to spread to other regions of the world. Jacob and Evie were never supposed to set foot in London but they did anyway,” you said hesitantly, unsure of how this Assassin who you did not know would react. When the other woman only took a ginger sip of her tea, you sighed and went on. “I believe the only reason we were not punished was due to our victory and the accolades given by Queen Victoria. We were not banned from Crawley, but we haven’t been invited back since Starrick’s demise. I suppose they like to pretend that we four _delinquents_ don’t exist.”

You flashed a bitter smile and propped your elbow up on the arm of your chair, resting your chin upon your palm. Sanjana seemed to be pondering what you’d said, taking another sip from her cup and then smiling wistfully.

“I believe it is difficult for some of our elder Mentors and Masters to admit when they have been outstepped by their pupils. Harder still to admit when they were mistaken. Even an Assassin can fall prey to pride and egotism.”

“How true,” you replied dryly with a roll of your eyes. The other woman smiled into her tea, nose wrinkling in amusement. As much as you enjoyed exchanging barbs about the elders with someone else, you didn’t want to think upon it at that moment. “You said that you traveled here from India. What brought you to Crawley?”

“I was sent to observe Initiates and choose any that I think would benefit from training in Amritsar,” she said, a hint of hesitation creeping into her voice as she added: “I was meant to come to London, originally, but when word of the rogue Assassin reached us…”

She looked apologetic and you knew it wasn’t her fault that she’d wound up in Crawley instead. You simply sighed and nodded in understanding.

“It was wise to come here. It’s safer for the time being,” you said softly, biting at the inside of your lip before adding: “And I can admit that there are many fine Initiates in Crawley. I was trained here, as was my husband and his sister.”

Sanjana made a thoughtful noise and set her now empty teacup aside.

“But your husband did not come with you?”

You pursed your lips a little, holding back a biting comment. It wouldn’t be fair of you to potentially sway her opinion of the younger Initiates in Crawley based upon the treatment of Jacob when he’d been a young man. Besides, you hardly knew this woman. She seemed kind but perhaps she would report any particularly scathing language to Master Osborne.

“No,” you said with a faint shrug. “He elected to remain in London and help defend the Brotherhood. I wanted to stay but he refused. For the sake of the children.”

The woman opposite of you nodded with a sympathetic furrow of her brow.

“I am not a mother but my own parents had to make many hard decisions when I was born. My mother put down her blade and remained home for three years while my father was gone on missions. I know how difficult it can be,” she said, offering a reassuring smile. “I cannot speak for everyone else, but I will do what I can to make this easier for you and your children.”

You studied her for a beat, gauging her expression and trying to decide if she was genuine and as gentle and patient as she seemed. After a moment you nodded.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Miss Varma.”

 

The three of you and Sanjana fell into a comfortable enough routine. She woke around seven o’clock each morning and boiled water in a kettle for tea to share with her new guests. She had agreed that leaving the door open between your rooms would be for the best, so sleeping wasn’t the miserable, cold affair that you’d been worried it might become. You shared breakfast with her and then she would head off to see to her duties of scouting out new Initiates for her own Brotherhood, which left you and Emmett and Alma on your own. You didn’t want to spend any more time with the occupants of the Brotherhood, so you usually slunk back to your quarters and busied yourself with reading or writing in your journal. Part of you knew it was silly to hide out like a criminal, but the knowing, judging looks from those you remembered from your time in Crawley as a teenager drove you mad.

It took a few days for the children to grow bold enough venture out into the headquarters without you. You could tell they were apprehensive given the things they’d heard about Crawley from you and Jacob, and so you encouraged them to explore and learn whatever they could. Unsurprisingly, Emmett found his way to the sparring rooms and Alma located the library, which you were glad for. They needed something to occupy themselves with if they were to be cooped up underground. It seemed like they were at least mildly enjoying their new surroundings, so you tried not to fret about how they were faring. Besides, you had enough on your mind. Though you knew deep down that it’d be foolish to expect word from Jacob after a few days, you couldn’t help but be hurt and disappointed when none came after three, four, five days.

A week in Crawley had crept by when you had your first nightmare. You had done your utmost best not to dwell on the danger Jacob was facing, nor the awful things you had seen in London, but while you slept you were at the mercy of your uneasy thoughts and grim memories. Still, you’d never been one to have many unpleasant dreams, so the realism of it had surprised you.

_Jacob laid on the ground upon his back, limbs akimbo and face turned skyward. His lips and chin were covered in a crimson smear. His coat lapels were slick with blood, shirt and waistcoat ripped open and obscured by the mass of his insides drawn out and thrown across his chest. When you fell to his side and touched his face, his skin was icy cold, hazel eyes blank and glassy like a dead fish._

_You wanted to scream. It built and built in your throat until you trembled with the effort but it wouldn’t come out and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make a sound as you looked at Jacob’s gutted figure and took his bloody hand into your own and tried to clean the red smears from his wedding ring and strained to cry but you just couldn’t_ —

When your eyes flew open you took perhaps two panicked breaths of air before you had to scramble to get your legs out from beneath the bed linens and slide down onto the floor so that you could wretch and tremble and try not to be sick. It was still pitch dark in the room and you did not hear any sound coming from the hallway outside, so it was still likely the middle of the night.

_It was only a dream._ You told yourself firmly, lifting a trembling hand to wipe sweat from your brow and smooth your hair away from your face.

A soft, worried murmur of your name from the doorway startled you and you whipped your head up to look. Sanjana was there, looking a little groggy but ready to act in case you needed help.

“I’m sorry. I…”

You began softly, but admitting it had been nothing but a frightening dream seemed so embarrassing, suddenly. Thankfully the other woman seemed to understand. She came to you and gently took you by the arms, helping you to your feet and guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. She then went to the powder table and took up the water pitcher, pouring a glass full and bringing it back for you to sip on. Once you’d soothed your dry mouth and throat, you looked up at the other Assassin. She was studying the slumbering figures of your children, a thoughtful furrow between her dark brows.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” she said simply, with a tired smile. She held up a hand to stay another apology from you. “It is no problem. I sleep quite lightly anyway. I’m amazed they’re still asleep.”

“They would sleep through a bloody hurricane,” you muttered enviously. Sanjana’s smile widened and then she held out a hand to take the empty glass once you’d polished it off. When she came back again, she stood before you and rested a hand upon your shoulder.

“Tomorrow I want you to come along with me to the sparring room. You cannot stay cooped up in these quarters with only your thoughts. You’ll go mad. Training Initiates will be a good distraction.”

Though a feeble protest was poised on your tongue, the prospect of being able to get back into some sort of normal routine won out.

“I think that’d be for the best. Thank you...and thank you for the water as well. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

Sanjana only shrugged and stepped back towards the door with a beatific look on her face.

“It is no trouble. My dearest friend back home in India has had her share of nightmares as well. I am used to it,” she said with a dismissive wave, turning to disappear through the doorway to her own quarters. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Sleep well.”

True to her word, Sanjana drug you out of bed bright and early to go eat breakfast, enjoy a short stroll through the countryside around the manor, and then down to the sparring room. It looked the same as it ever had, walls lined with various wooden stand ins for blades of all shapes. You were unsure of yourself and your place, still, so you sat at the edge of the floor and watched Sanjana instruct and spar for a handful of hours. She moved so gracefully and quickly, like a wisp of smoke, but her bare arms were well muscled and her strikes were landed with brutal force that left the receivers wincing and gasping. Her good natured smile as she helped up those she knocked down eased the embarrassment, you knew, and you felt suddenly very bitter, even cheated. Sanjana belonged in London. It should have been your Initiates she was choosing from. Not Master Osborne’s. It was Jack’s fault that your Brotherhood had been denied the chance to have someone of her skill in their halls.

After three days of sitting, observing and pointing out which Initiates you would select if you were in Sanjana’s shoes, the urge to go out onto the sparring floor was too great to ignore. There was no sense in neglecting to keep your skills honed, after all. Sanjana openly encouraged you, perking up on the bench as she watched you stand and remove your boots and socks and waistcoat.

The first Initiate you faced was a small, rather unassuming young lady. She was clearly focused hard upon what she was doing, expression tense in concentration. Though you made quick work of beating her again and again, she simply listened eagerly to your advice and corrections each time you managed to strike her with the staff or knock her to the floor. The encounter left her bowing her head graciously and you telling her to keep practicing and to seek you out later if she wanted to try some more. It felt good. Teaching had fallen on the wayside in light of Jack’s madness and it was nice to be reminded that you still had much to offer the younger generations of Assassins.

Unfortunately, working with the younger generation also meant you had to face those who fancied themselves far more skilled than they were. One such student finally crossed your path. Or rather, he stepped into it and held his staff out so that you were forced to stop lest you ran your breast bone straight into the end of it. He was tall, blonde and pale eyed with absurdly broad shoulders. Your bored expression seemed to only fuel whatever cocksure desire he had to prove himself against you and he backed up, taking a defensive stance as the pair of you circled one another.

“You’re the one from London. The one who left while Jack the Ripper keeps killing more and more of our Sisters,” he muttered, softly enough to go unnoticed by everyone else save you thanks to the noisy clattering of staffs against each other. You lunged at him before he finished speaking, catching him across the left collarbone and then ducking around his stocky frame to jam the end of your weapon hard into his lower back.

“If your form is always as loose as your tongue is, you’ll not live long enough to understand the intricacies of making the choices I’ve had to,” you replied tersely as he spun to face you, swinging hard enough to make your hands ache as they absorbed the shock of his blow upon your staff. The cracking sound of it made many others in the room look around to watch as the pair of you settled into a fierce volley of exchanging and blocking hits.

He had rubbish form and footwork, but the young man did know how to wield a weapon. As you swung to knock the staff from his one handed grip, he quickly tossed it up and grabbed it with the opposite hand, reversing his stance and swinging towards your unguarded side. You managed to turn your face in time to absorb the force of his strike into your cheek rather than your nose or mouth. The hit certainly knocked you for a loop and made you stagger, eyes watering as your nerves cried out at the sharp, stinging pain, but you weren’t mad about that. It was part of sparring, after all. No, what made your anger finally boil over was the youth twirling his staff idly while he waited for you to recover and running his mouth once more.

“Living softly in London does not suit you. Discomfort is what keeps you sharp—”

Before he could finish his smug gloating, you spun about and struck out with the staff, catching him across the face. There was a crack of the wood against the bone in his nose and he went down to his knees, blood pouring out of his nostrils like water from a kettle. Before he could gather his bearings you lashed out with a foot and hit him in the chest, sending him backward with a thud. When you stood over him and leaned down to meet his gaze he recoiled, looking up at you with frightened, pained disbelief as he held his nose. The white edge of his sleeve was rapidly soaking up blood and the sight filled you with savage satisfaction.

“ _Living softly_ ? I was fighting Templars when you were nothing but a lump beneath your mother’s bodice. I have birthed two children. I have seen my Sisters slaughtered in the streets. I know more of discomfort than you ever will, _boy_ ,” you hissed through bared teeth, twirling the staff around so that you could jab him square in the chest with the blunt end of it. You jerked the staff upward, then, as if you meant to give him a mighty blow, but when he shielded his face you huffed in disgust and lowered the weapon so that you could lean down over him, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“I can say with utmost certainty that Jack the Ripper would decorate the streets of Whitechapel with your insides before you knew what had happened. Now remove yourself from this floor until you learn some humility.”

The young man nodded his head quickly, turning over onto his side and going up onto his knees and free hand, then standing slowly. He refused to meet your gaze as he slunk off of the sparring floor, elbowing another Assassin aside so that he could disappear through a side door.

Though a part of you was delighted at being able to finally vent some anger, your conscience spoke up with a _careful. play nicely_. You sighed softly and rolled your shoulders before returning to your position in the center of the floor.

“You. Here, now,” you called, motioning to a blond girl with a scar across her nose standing amongst the other Initiates and settling into a defensive stance. When she hesitated, looking nervously at you and then to another Initiate, you cracked the staff upon the floor to startle her into motion. “Come on.”

You took your dinner alone that evening in your quarters while you waited for your bath water to begin simmering over the hearth. Sanjana had taken Alma and Emmett to eat with her elsewhere once she’d seen how weary you looked after the afternoon of training youths. She had promised to return them at eight o’clock, which left you with an hour and a quarter to unwind. The boiled potatoes were fine, as was the bread, but the pork was salty and overcooked. You ate your entire meal regardless, drinking two glasses of red wine to rinse the salt off of your tongue and one more to coax languid warmth into your tense shoulders.

The water in the kettle was nearly whistling by the time you finished with your drink. You hurried to take it from the flame to let it cool slightly before you poured it into the shallow basin of the heavy, porcelain hip bath that had been given to you by Sanjana. Once you’d returned to your quarters you’d shed your boots and socks and sleeved shirt, so it did not take but a minute to shimmy out of your trousers and underclothes. You tested the water gingerly with a toe before easing down to sit within it, leaning against the sloped back of the bath and sighing. A wooden towel horse sat within reach and you grabbed a sponge from it, dipping it into the water and bringing it up to scrub at the front of your neck and down to your breasts.

Every swipe of the sponge over your arms and neck and shoulders seeped more warmth into your muscles and, combined with the wine, made you sink down a bit more into the water. As you dropped the sponge to let it simply bob in the water beside your hip, you caught a glimpse of a very faint, jagged mark like a bolt of lightning on your belly. You smiled a little and ran the pad of your thumb over it. You had a few more of them, all faded by now; presents from your children before you had delivered them. As you lightly touched each mark that you could see, your mind wandered back through years of memories to when you had been a younger woman at her husband’s side in a new country and how being there had changed the dynamic of your relationship for the better.

During your second year in India, on a balmy day with rain drizzling from the sky, Evie had birthed a daughter who had soft, brown skin like her father and her mother’s sharp cupid’s bow. Henry had asked if they might call her Gita and Evie had happily agreed. Jacob had been so nervous during the entire process, pacing restlessly and squirming when you did get him to sit down for a bit and leaping to his feet again every time he heard Evie cry out in pain. When it had all been said and done, though, and he’d finally had his turn to hold his first niece in his arms, Jacob had smiled and cooed and nuzzled her like he hadn’t been worried at all.

The sight had warmed you and at the same time created a fierce longing that you had felt a few times since you had married but had always pushed aside in lieu of other things. Building the London Brotherhood. Aiding Her Majesty behind the scenes. Strengthening the Rooks. Fighting the inevitable fledgling Templar factions. There had always been _something_ happening that had made the idea of pregnancy seem ridiculous and ill-timed, both to you and to Jacob. As you’d watched your husband gently rocking the baby girl and resolutely ignoring Evie’s attempts to get him to surrender the child back to her, you’d realized that there would always be something. That there was no use waiting for an appropriate, safe time to have a child because you would be left waiting forever.

Still, you had no way of knowing if Jacob shared the sentiment. He fawned over and doted upon little Gita every chance he got in the months following her birth but said nothing to you of expanding your own family. You had refused to be the first to broach the subject, out of as much fear as stubbornness, and focused even harder upon learning from the Indian Brotherhood and training the Initiates. Perhaps you had grown quiet and slightly distant as a result.

Three months remained before you were due to return to England when Jacob, true to form, surprised you.

_He came to you one evening in your shared quarters, finding you seated upon the sill of an open window and slowly brushing out your hair for the night. You hadn’t seen much of him that day and so you greeted him with a bright smile, accepting the kiss he pressed to your lips before he sat down on the sill beside you._

_“I bought something today to leave with Evie when we depart. A gift for my niece when she’s old enough. Give me your opinion on it,” Jacob said, reaching into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out a small, wooden box. You paused your brushing to look over as he opened it, revealing an impossibly small, golden ring with a single ruby set into its pronged grasp. It was obviously a ring for a child._

_“Already spoiling Gita rotten,” you laughed, setting down the brush to take the box from Jacob, inspecting the ring more closely. The gem was pure of color and finely cut. It was a lovely gift. “It’s beautiful, darling.”_

_When you looked up to give Jacob a smile, you were met with an earnest expression. He reached out and took the ring from you, closing the box and setting it aside so that he could hold both of your hands into his. You watched him lift each one to his lips in turn, kissing your knuckles and fingers before clasping your hands to his chest. His sudden intensity made you both excited and worried, and you settled closer to him._

_“What is it?”_

_You could see the gears turning in his head as Jacob searched for the words. His grasp on your hands tightened reflexively, and he took a deep breath as if preparing to take a plunge into tumultuous waters._

_“I want...while I was browsing the jeweler’s wares, I saw so many little rings and I realized...I realized that I wanted to be buying them for my own daughter. I hadn’t any idea why I had kept denying us that. Denying you that. I think that we should have a child. I truly do.”_

_The rush of surprise that went through you was staggering. It caught you unawares tenfold compared to when Jacob had asked for your hand in marriage. You swallowed hard and averted your gaze, trying to get a handle on the emotion of overwhelming relief prickling at your eyes. Jacob made a low sound of comfort and leaned in to kiss your temple, releasing your hands so that he could stroke your hair and the back of your neck._

_“Darling. I’ve seen how you look at Gita. You tote her all around this house whenever Evie needs to rest,” Jacob murmured, bumping his forehead to yours. “It’s clear that you desire what Evie and Greenie have.”_

_“I can’t help myself,” you sighed, feeling suddenly silly and embarrassed for having been so obvious. Jacob’s wicked grin made you huff and jab him in the chest with a fingertip. “Don’t make fun of me, you clod. You should see how you look at her. You light up when you hold her, Jacob Frye.”_

_Jacob actually turned pink at your words and you laughed until he hushed you up with a kiss. When he pulled away he took your face into his hands and stroked your cheeks with his thumbs._

_“I want you to look that happy while you hold a baby that we made together,” you whispered. Jacob smiled again, utterly sappy and warm, and nodded._

_Then, before you could stop him, he stood and scooped you up from the window sill like a man carrying his wife over the threshold, grinning and laughing as you squawked in surprise. He carried you to the bed and fairly tossed you onto it, following after before you could gather your bearings and pinning you in place upon your back. You giggled beneath your breath and bit your lip as Jacob’s fingers brushed over the curve of your breasts and down over your belly._

_“What are you doing?”_

_Jacob let out a thoughtful hum as he ducked his head to the curve of your throat, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses up and down the stretch of skin. You felt his hand settle upon your upper thigh, fingers gradually drawing your nightgown up and up until your skin was bared for him to touch._

_“I see no reason why we should have to wait until we return to London to get started, hmm?”_

_“I’ve said this before but you are terribly wicked,” you murmured fondly, pausing until Jacob raised his head to look at you. “And I’m not sure pregnancy happens just because you’ve decided it will. We’ve been rather thorough for three years of marriage already and I’ve not been with child once.”_

_“Well, I’m not a physician, darling, but I think I have to finish inside of you to get the job done,” he said thoughtfully, and then added in a purr: “Not that I mind terribly when you let me come on your lovely thighs or arse. It’s got a certain sinfulness to it that strikes my fancy.”_

_“Jacob Frye,” you said sternly with a wrinkle of your nose. He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at you._

_“Not to worry. It will happen. I certainly don’t mind putting in the extra effort,” Jacob replied, tone nothing short of saucy, and then he proceeded to do just that over several long, heated hours._

When he’d finished with you it was in the midst of the night. Your hips had ached and your muscles had throbbed in dull pleasure and shook with fine tremors for what seemed like ages, but you remembered even now how utterly content you had been to lie there in Jacob’s arms while he stroked his fingertips over your lower belly.

Despite how loving Jacob had been to you even before your marriage, you had fallen prey to the niggling fear that the process of trying to conceive would become more of a clinical conquest than something based upon passion and love. You had heard all the horror stories growing up of young ladies being at the mercy of their husbands who sought a child with such singular focus that their wife’s comfort was forgotten, either by accident or willfully. Your own grandmother had warned you once you’d had your first blood to expect to birth many children and to never breathe complaint or try to avoid it; it was simply your duty as a wife to carry as many babies as your husband desired. To voice protest to your husband could result in you being abused, divorced or, worse, lead him to taking on a wife in water colors and humiliating you socially.

All of this advice had been given before you’d decided to dedicate your time to the Brotherhood rather than courting, of course, but you hadn’t forgotten it. You’d thought to yourself over and over again about what would you do if Jacob had somehow retained the vile attitude of treating your body like nothing but a receptacle when he decided it was time for you to fulfill your final duty as his wife and provide him with a child.

Perhaps he’d sensed the lowly simmering tension within you because Jacob had chased all of those worries that first night and during every other coupling the pair of you had. Whether it was in your quarters at the end of the day for drawn out sex that left you shaken and sweaty or hidden somewhere out of sight in the gardens for something quick and rough with muffled, giggling moans and trying to smooth out your appearances before you parted to go back to training, Jacob hadn’t acted once as if your pleasure mattered less than creating new life. He’d never been impatient or inquired if you were expecting, respecting your privacy and trusting that you would tell him when it happened. It had been one of the most special times of your entire life, even when you looked back some fifteen years later. Just thinking about it then made you feel warm and a little breathless.

It had also been a lesson in belief as, true to his word, Jacob helped you welcome Emmett in August of the following year. Alma had arrived three months before your son’s second birthday. You hadn’t anticipated two children. Not after how stressful your first pregnancy had been for you and Jacob. Mother Nature had apparently had other designs in mind. Within a few weeks of Emmett turning one, you’d perched yourself upon Jacob’s knee, kissed him and pressed his hand to your belly, and told him that you were pregnant once again. Second child or not, Jacob had been as elated as he had been when you’d conceived the first time.

A sudden shiver racing up your spine pulled you from your thoughts. The bath water had gone tepid and the candle sitting upon the bedside table was oozing wax down its side as it burned low. You leaned out of the bath and grabbed up your pocket watch. It was half seven already. With a reluctant sigh you stood from the basin and took up a towel, sweeping it over your limbs and chest and back before draping it over the rack to let it dry.

Once you’d made sure there was water left for the children to wash their faces and behind their ears, you slipped into your nightgown and turned back the linens on the bed, settling in and taking up one of the books from the stack on the table that Alma had borrowed from the library. It was a text about the Assassin struggle to gain foothold in early America. She’d always been fond of that particular piece of time in the Brotherhood’s history, much to Jacob’s bemusement and, you suspected, jealousy.

_Oh, Jacob. You silly man. They love you as you are and for what you’ve accomplished. We all do._ You thought with a wistful smile, which slowly turned to a faint frown as you set the book aside and sunk down into the bed linens to wait for sleep to claim you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A "wife in water colors" is slang for a mistress or concubine.


	4. Chapter 4

Though some weeks had passed since you’d come to Crawley, the dark, frightening dreams of finding Jacob dead and torn apart hadn’t gone away. You had managed to hide them for the most part, although some mornings Sanjana would ask how you slept in a tone that suggested she knew fully well how your night had gone, but she never asked directly. You hoped you didn’t always cry out during your nightmares and disturb her. The entire prospect made lying down at night and going to sleep an unpleasant task. Images from previous dreams mixed with your vivid memories of the ghastly murder scenes of the four women in London, whirring through your mind no matter how you tried to think of other things.

However, on one evening in particular the theme of the nightmare had taken an even more grisly and frightening turn than just finding Jacob brutalized and murdered.

_The length of Fairclough Street was vacant save for the thick fog that had rolled in with the night and the towering figure you pursued. Jack was so close, close enough to see the tattered edge of his duster and the white fabric of his awful mask. He couldn’t get away. Not again. You couldn’t bear to lose another Sister. If he would just stop, hesitate long enough for you to get a bead on the back of his head with your pistol, it would be over._

_But he didn’t stop. He scaled up the side of an abandoned tea importer business and you followed. Your breath was labored, coming in hard bursts that turned to steam in the frigid air. When you clambered up over the edge of the roof, Jack was nowhere to be seen. You ran to the other side of the rooftop, peering down onto the shorter neighboring building, combing the shadows with your sight. He was gone. Gone like the evil spirit he was._

_A soft rustling of bird’s wings and startled cooing met your ears, and you wheeled on the spot and came face to face with his crude, horrific mask. Jack reacted before you could, raising his right arm and swinging it like a club. The massive span of the back of his palm struck you hard across the face, sending you toppling backward and putting spots in your vision. The heel of your boot caught a crack in the rooftop and your back met the warped surface a moment later. You managed to take one deep breath in preparation to scream before he was on you. His knee dug into your pelvis with merciless force, holding you down with a hand over your mouth. His blade, jagged and mean looking, glinted in the moonlight as he unsheathed it from his belt and held it, poised and considering as he looked down at you through the eye holes of his mask._

_Something was off. His eyes were wrong, the wrong shape and color, not pale blue and ghostly. They looked dark, nearly black in the shadow of his mask and the brim of his top hat. You kicked beneath him, twisting your body and fighting to get a hand on his face. Your fingers found purchase on the mask at the price of agonizing pain as his blade sank into your belly. A scream welled up in your throat but couldn’t escape. Your grasp on the mask tightened in reflex, pulling and pulling until the fabric gave and came away from his head in your fist. It wasn’t Jack knelt over you, ripping his blade from your belly and bringing it up to cut a deep, curving line from one ear to the other across your throat._

_It was Jacob, his eyes wide and face contorted in feral, bloodthirsty delight as he flayed your throat open—_

When your eyes sprang open you found yourself gazing across the room at the bulky shape of your trunk in the dark. Your muscles were rigid, shaking, and your fingers hurt from how tightly they were clenched around the bed linens. Your stomach twisted, not in fear but something akin to nausea. As you drew a deep breath that quivered at the edges, a gentle touch on your shoulder made you jump a bit. The sleepy, familiar voice of your son followed a moment later, soothing your frayed nerves.

“Mother? Are you all right?”

Slowly and with clumsy movements you turned over onto your other side and squinted in the darkness to see Emmett sitting upright and leaning over Alma where she was bundled up and fast asleep between you. His gaze was groggy but he had a pinched, worried look on his face.

“Yes...yes, I’m all right, darling. I think I’m going to go for a walk,” you whispered with a reassuring nod, reaching to stroke a hand over the boy’s hair. “Sanjana is in the other room if you need something. I’ll return soon. Go back to sleep.”

Once Emmett had laid back down and nestled his face into his pillow and drifted off, you gingerly slipped out of bed, donned your boots and overcoat and tucked the blankets around Alma before sneaking out of the room. 

The hallways that wound through the headquarters were empty save for the evening guard. They hardly spared you a glance as you passed them by, floor by floor as you descended towards the Council chamber and library. You took the first unfamiliar hallway that you saw once you’d passed down several flights of steps, wandering along in the soft lantern light and examining hanging portraits and tapestries. The restlessness that had seized you continued to drive your legs onward until you reached the end of the hall.

Rather than another set of steps to take up or down, you were stood at the wide entrance to a great, arching hall that stretched onward until you could no longer make out the floor in the lantern light. It was the memorial hall. The walls on either side of you were covered in paintings, busts, and some displayed Assassin robes and weapons. Each respective display had a small name plate beneath it along with the date of birth and of death. The first were the oldest, marble sculptures of the men and women who had set foot in these halls centuries before and built up the Brotherhood. As it was arranged chronologically, you wasted no time in lingering at the mouth of the hall. You strode onward, watching the dates on the plates as they moved through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and then into those who had served and died within the previous eighty eight years.

Finally you reached what you were looking for; a portion of the wall was cut out to make room for two hooded overcoats, hidden blades set upon pedestals beside two pistols, and two portraits on either side of the memorial. The last name of Frye beneath each picture made your stomach twist, and you moved over to who could be no one other than Jacob’s mother.

Cecily did not much resemble Evie as you’d anticipated. Their similarities began and ended at their shapely lips. She also lacked the freckles that her daughter sported across her cheeks and nose. However, she had the same vivid, hazel eyes as Jacob and shared his high, squared cheeks. Their hair was the same warm, chocolate brown color. It was comforting to look at her and see such familiar features. Perhaps the similarity was part of the reason why Ethan Frye had never been able to connect with Jacob in the same way he did Evie; the resemblance to his lost love and partner had surely pained him to see as Jacob grew older.

The portrait for Ethan hung on the opposite side of the display. You approached this one hesitantly, frowning slightly as you came to stand before it. You’d never really imagined what Jacob’s father had looked like. Jacob didn’t mention him except in passing when recalling childhood memories and so you never brought him up, either. Perhaps your expectation of seeing a hard, cold man was why the image before you made you feel so odd. Ethan had hair as black as a raven’s feather, brilliantly blue eyes and a soft, open expression. His nose was so similar to Jacob’s that it was almost amusing. It was also immediately apparent who had given the eldest Frye child her freckles.

As you studied the picture you surmised that Ethan couldn’t have been much older than twenty when he’d had it painted. Cecily, either, for that matter. Perhaps she’d been pregnant when it had been done. That thought made a sharp pang of sadness rush through you. Though you knew it was folly to wish for past events to change with no regard for how it would alter the present, you wished deeply that Jacob had grown up with both of his parents.

A soft tapping of something hard upon the floor made you whip your head around to look down the hall where you had yet to walk. A figure was approaching slowly, a cane in hand. For a moment you thought, with some dread, that it might be one of the elders come to bear bad news. However, when they looked up, you saw that it was only George. Still, it was the middle of the night and you couldn’t help but be a little wary.

“What are you doing out and about so late?” He asked with clear amusement.

“I could ask you the same thing, George,” you replied, more prickly and on edge than you’d intended. The man before you didn’t miss your tone. He sighed as he approached, tilting his head just a bit as he considered you.

“You are free to move about these halls as you please. You are a fellow Assassin. Not a prisoner.”

“Forgive me for not feeling as though I am amongst friends. I cannot shake the suspicion that some here are eager to receive news that Jacob has failed,” you said lowly, tersely, and turned your head enough to look at the man beside you. “I’m not a fool. I know that they want London for themselves and what better way to get it than for the unwanted son of Ethan Frye to be killed? It’s easier than taking on Crawford Starrick and his entire empire. Hide in the shadows and let others do the heavy lifting. Isn’t that the Crawley way?”

George frowned but said nothing to deny it. You were glad that he at least had enough respect for you to not try to lie about how the elders in Crawley viewed Jacob and, by extension, you.

“They are set in their ways. Most only remember Jacob for the trouble he caused while he lived here with us. They remember Ethan doing what he could to mold his son into something better than a hooligan with a hidden blade and a penchant for mischief.”

“Jacob is a better man than his father ever was. I’d take his mischief over his father’s abysmal character without hesitation,” you said quietly, turning back to look at Cecily’s portrait. “Ethan blamed his newborn children for the death of their mother and abandoned them so that he could flee halfway around the world. They were without him for six years, George. They learned how to walk and talk without him at their side. He came home to them as a stranger. Not as a father.Ethan was a coward. Surely Cecily would have been ashamed of him.”

“I can agree that Cecily would have drug her husband home by the ear had she been able to. What Ethan did was shameful. I would have stopped him if I’d only known what his intentions were,” George said with a sigh. His tone shifted then to one of prying curiosity. “But do you know with certainty that Jacob would have raised your son and daughter himself if you had perished the way his mother did? Loss is a powerful thing. It drives people to extreme measures.”

“My husband may hide from his emotions when they are overwhelming but he has never run from his duties and responsibilities. Not once has he abandoned his Brotherhood or his family. He is a man of honor, regardless of whatever opinion Ethan Frye left behind before he died. That is why I am here while Jacob is in London risking his life. I wanted to remain with him but he wouldn’t hear of it, though I know a part of him wanted me to stay. He chose us over himself. He always has.”

George hummed thoughtfully and nodded, shuffling over to stand at your side. For a moment he was quiet, studying the painted image of the fallen duo.

“I remember Jacob when he was young. After Ethan left the twins in the care of their grandmother, I looked in on them occasionally. Bloody silver tongued little whelp, he was. Neither would admit it but Ethan and Jacob were alike in many ways during their youth. The wild streak in your husband didn’t come from Cecily. Jacob possessed raw talent for killing and doing so efficiently. He was not afraid to fight, be it here or at the tavern down the road,” George paused and shook his head in exasperation. “Ethan saw potential in him, for all of his harsh words for the boy. I did as well. Unfortunately, Jacob was also reckless. He followed the Creed but did not hold the same reverence for it that his father did and often split hairs to get away with questionable deeds. Ethan had reason to voice disappointment in Jacob’s actions. He did not always conduct himself in a manner that brought credit to the Brotherhood.”

“Credit to the Brotherhood? I didn’t realize it brought credit to the name of Assassin to hide in the country beneath ground like a bunch of voles while the Templars took over the world...and it hardly matters, now. Ethan is dead,” you said firmly, turning away from the display and glaring at the man before you. “He has been gone for over twenty years and I will not let my husband live in the shadow of his father’s premature judgement. Demanding perfection of a youth, even one of Assassin blood, is foolish. Especially when you abandoned said child rather than being around to act as a positive influence. Ethan allowed his misery to harden his heart and his son suffered for it.”

“You are not mistaken. His depression changed him. Cecily passing on was something he couldn’t bear,” George said softly, readjusting his grip on the silver head of his cane. “I did not agree with Ethan on everything he chose to do, though we were close friends. I...I can only say that Ethan did love his children, though he often failed to show it. He only ever wanted the best for both of them. He wanted them to become as great as their mother was, I feel.”

“Then you must believe me when I say that I witness Jacob’s strength as an Assassin...as a father...every day. He is not a boy any more, George. He is a Master and a Mentor. He’s helped me raise two children and take care of countless other orphans in the city. We’ve been _Knighted_ , for god’s sake. Jacob has become a fine man. One that even his father would have been proud of.”

With that you turned and stepped around the older man with a swish of coattails and nightgown. You’d only taken a handful of steps when George began to _laugh_. Startled, you stopped dead and looked back over your shoulder.

“You have an admirable amount of conviction and loyalty in your heart,” George said through his chuckling. Unsure of how to react, you frowned and nodded once.

“As any Assassin and wife should if she is made to feel those sentiments are deserved by the people around her,” you replied firmly but without your previous irritation. “I do not pledge myself to others lightly, George. You know that. Jacob has earned those feelings from me.”

George held your gaze, sobering again quickly. Then he nodded and began to turn away, cane tapping softly upon the floor as he went.

“I daresay he has. I cannot imagine you ever tolerating anything less. Good night, my friend.”

“Good night, George,” you called back as you continued down the hallway.

When you had returned to your quarters and settled back into bed, you ruminated over your second encounter with your old friend until you dozed off. All that you were able to conclude was that he had become a maddening codger who enjoyed posing vitriolic questions but who also, seemingly, sought to hear the truth of the second born Frye from someone who had been with him for half of his life. He wanted to understand what had become of Jacob, to hear if he had grown into the great leader that Ethan Frye had hoped he’d become in spite of his flaws.

You also pictured Cecily and Ethan, tried to put voices to their faces. You’d heard once that they had been madly in love and that it showed even in their work together in the field. Had they been anything like Jacob and you had been at age twenty, nigh bursting with affection and desire for each other and one willing to kill without hesitation to protect the other? You liked to think so; though you held little regard for Ethan, it was comforting to imagine that Evie and Jacob had been born into a family that had been built out of love, as short lived as it had been.

  


The month of November arrived with no news. When you woke the morning that marked an entire month since you had left London, you hoped desperately for a letter or telegraph but the day passed with no such luck. Alma and Emmett were restless as well. They asked George each time they saw him if he knew anything, either, but he always frowned a little and said he had nothing to tell them. He sounded apologetic but the children always seemed let down nonetheless.

When the sun had set upon the sixth day of the month and you were just beginning to think about crawling into bed as you made your way towards your quarters, the sudden appearance of an out of breath Initiate halted you. The girl braced herself on the wall and took a deep, steady breath before she could speak.

“Master Frye. Master Osborne requests...requests your presence in his study, madame. Immediately. He said it’s about London.”

You had already set off at a sprint down the hall before the girl could take another deep breath. You received many a curious glance as you went, jumping down flights of steps and nearly sending other Assassins sprawling in your haste. It didn’t take but a couple of minutes to get to the private door to the old man’s study, and though you’d expected the guards would stand in your way and give you grief, when they saw you striding towards them they simply parted and let you push the door open to rush inside.

It surprised you when you walked through the door and saw both George and Sanjana standing in the study. They looked at you but you could not glean much from their expressions. Master Osborne stood behind a great, wooden desk, and he had what looked to be a fold-creased letter in his grasp, brows furrowed as he scanned its contents.

“Is that from London? Did Jacob send it?” You demanded at once, dropping all pretense of respect and hurrying forward to stand opposite of the man. “Well?”

When he turned his attention from the letter to you, the look on his face was serious. It sent a chill through you that settled heavy in your stomach. He handed the letter over to you without a word. There was only one paragraph of writing on the paper, but the familiar, neat penmanship told you at once who it was from and as you read, your heart lodged firmly in your throat.

_I arrived in London this morning. The Brotherhood is in shambles. Jacob is gone. Missing. Frederick Abberline has not seen him in weeks. Neither have the Initiates or the Rooks that remain loyal to him. I have already discovered a note from Jacob that he hid for me to find. He told me where he had sent you and the children. It also held a clue about how I should proceed against Jack and a woman associate of his. I do not believe Jacob to be dead. I will not believe it. Jack would not be able to resist boasting if he had killed his former mentor. All the same, do not return to London yet. I will need to work quickly and will not be able to keep watch over you. I fear my presence will lead to more deaths before this is over. I do not want one of them to be yours or my niece or nephew._

_Be brave, Sister. Have faith. Take care of your children. I will send word again very soon._

The words began to waver as you looked at them. It took you a moment to realize it was because your hand was shaking. Though the mentor’s office was spacious and cool, it suddenly felt as if you were suffocating, closed in on all sides by some awful, unseen pressure. The letter crumpled in your hand as you turned, finding the old man, George, and Sanjana watching you.

“Mind my children. I need...I need to…”

You tried to speak but you felt too hot and dizzy to bother going on. In all honesty, you weren’t even sure what you needed. Your legs were carrying you out of the room before you knew it, and despite the worried call from the other woman, you strode onward through the labyrinth of halls and stairs. The exit to the cover manor was where you remembered and the strength with which you opened the final door that put you in the sitting room startled the guards placed there. They looked at you curiously but you didn’t pause to explain yourself.

“It’s raining out, madame. You’ll fall ill,” you heard a male voice call after you in a warning manner. You simply pulled your hood up in response and rushed through the entrance hall and out the front door.

The blast of chilly autumn air as you stepped out into the dark was divine, helping to ease the strange heat that had scorched along your nerves. You heard your boots splash into shallow puddles of water that stood all along the muddy drive as you strode into the night. It did not take long to find yourself across one, two, three fields of wet, matted grasses and dead foliage. The gentle incline of a small rise in the terrain made you slow, feet slipping on the slick mess of the ground until you finally had to stop and regain your balance. The glimmer of the lanterns alit on the front step of the manor were but faint pinpricks through the downpour as you glanced backward. No one had seemingly followed you and you were glad.

At the top of the hill there was a lone, old English oak. The leaves that had yet to fall from its wavy branches were drooping heavily beneath the weight of the rain. You went to it thoughtlessly and fell to your knees, bracing a hand against the rough bark of its trunk. The water that seeped up through the ground and layers of soggy grasses was icy as it soaked into your trousers, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t care. Your head thudded to rest beside your hand upon the bark and you closed your eyes.

_Jacob is gone. Missing. For weeks. Weeks. Jack has him and he’s had him for weeks and I’ve been here doing nothing to help him—_

The thoughts went round and round again in your head, demanding to be acknowledged as you tried to gather your emotions and steady your breath and think. The insistent, awful press of agony and fear won out in the end, and the rivulets that began running down your face were far too warm to be raindrops. A sudden flash of the terrible dream you’d had came back, of Jacob being the one dead and gutted on the ground for you to find. That was the last straw. You wept, openly and loudly, body quaking as you sobbed. Your anguish built and built, twisting like a knife in your gut until a shrill, choked scream of Jacob’s name tore from your throat. It was lost at once to the endless drumming of rain upon the earth. At that moment you didn’t feel like a grown woman or an Assassin capable of killing with only your hands. You felt small, vulnerable and bereft and flayed open in the worst way. In a frightening moment of clarity, you understood what Ethan Frye had felt when he’d watched Cecily die. To have a lover and friend and partner snatched away...the pain was indescribable.

Your hand on the tree hand slowly slipped downward as you’d cried and the rest of you had followed until you were on hands and knees, staring at the bits of exposed tree roots and water bouncing off of them. The quivering and trembling that had taken hold of your muscles only grew worse and you did not know if it was caused by the cold or simply shock. Though your overcoat was of the finest make, it could only do so much against water and your clothes were rapidly becoming soaked through.

At some point you’d dropped your head to rest against your forearm, eyes closing. You wanted to get up and return to your children, to hold them and kiss their cheeks and comfort them but you couldn’t. They needed you but you just couldn’t. The idea of getting up and walking back to the reality that Jack had somehow taken Jacob was too much.

The sudden gleam of light shining through your eyelids startled you back into awareness. You scrambled up to your knees, blade already out and at the ready as you glowered up at the figure that had approached, hidden by the sound of the storm. When they lowered the lantern and knelt down before you, you found yourself looking into Sanjana’s hooded face. The worry in her dark eyes was painfully clear. You didn’t know what to say. You were sure it was obvious you had been crying — your eyes felt too hot and too dry despite the rain pelting your face — but you felt no need to defend or explain yourself. The other Assassin was no fool; she surely knew what had upset you so deeply and had the sense not to ask anyway. After a moment of silence, she offered you her free hand and jerked her head back towards the direction you’d come.

“George is with your children. I told them that I would bring you back. They’re afraid you returned to London without them,” she said, voice raised so that you could hear her over the rain pelting the pair of you.

You looked at her hand wearily but reached out nonetheless to take it, allowing her to pull you up to your feet. Now that you were standing you realized how very cold you were and you had to swallow down another wave of misery rather than letting is manifest as a sob. The woman at your side seemed to understand regardless and did not dally, leading the way back down the hill with the lantern held out to find the safest path.

When you were back below ground in the Brotherhood’s halls, you saw your children huddled on either side of George upon a stone bench. They looked up at the sound of your footsteps and your heart dropped at the sight of their teary eyes and wet cheeks. Both of them jumped up and ran to you and you dropped to your knees to meet them, wrapping your arms around them and hiding your wet face in their shoulders.

“Is father dead?” Alma sobbed into your hair. Emmett was silent but he quivered in your embrace. You pulled back enough to look at their faces and swallowed hard, shaking your head and moving your hands to cradle each of their faces.

“No,” you said tremulously. You thumbed over their cheeks and drew them back in for another tight embrace. “No. He’ll...he’s all right. Auntie Evie is there to help him, now.”

If your children heard the uncertainty in your voice, they said nothing as they hugged you close in return.

The following day you laid in bed until Sanjana roused you with an offering of a hot cup of sweetened black tea. You hadn’t fallen sick despite your nighttime jaunt in the rain but you felt hollow and exhausted anyway. Still, you hadn’t the heart to tell the other woman to go away, not with her gently stroking your hair and massaging your shoulder, so you got up and went to sit by the fire, sipping the tea gingerly with your eyes resting shut.

“Your boots are still drying. I have another pair that you may wear for today, if you wish.”

You nodded wordlessly as you focused on the heat radiating out of the cup and soaking into the tender skin of your lips. Long, nimble fingers dipped into your hair, gently untangling knots and gathering it back to begin the task of weaving it into a neat braid.

“George was here. He took the children to get breakfast and then go for a walk outside now that it has stopped raining.”

“Good. They need the fresh air,” you muttered absently, falling silent again as your head swayed and bobbed with the gentle pull of Sanjana’s hands on your locks. When she had finished and tied the end of the braid together with a strip of blue ribbon, you watched her disappear for a moment into your room. The thud of a trunk lid opening and then closing a moment later met your ears, and then Sanjana returned with a shirt, waistcoat, and pair of trousers draped over her arm.

“I will not make you leave this room if you do not wish to, but I must insist that you get dressed. You will feel better.”

Her tone was gentle and patient yet left no room for negotiation, so you stood and traded her the empty teacup so that you could take the clothes and get changed while Sanjana busied herself with making her bed.

As you shimmied into your trousers and buttoned them up, your thoughts converged upon a single point. You had had a chance to cry and show weakness and vulnerability, but plans needed to be made. What were you to do if Jacob was dead and Evie followed suit? As his wife and second in command in London, you knew it was your duty to return and pick up where he had left off. The city needed you. Your Brotherhood and Initiates needed you.

 _Your children also need you._ A small, stern voice whispered. And that was the dilemma. Returning to London would mean going from the frying pan to the fire itself. You wouldn’t shy away from facing Jack, but if you did you knew in your heart that your life would likely come to an end in the process. If Emmett and Alma returned to the city with you and then you perished, who would safeguard them? The remaining Initiates? Abberline? No one would be left to protect them.

 _I could leave them behind in Crawley._ You thought as you worked at the buttons of your shirt. _But for how long? And how could I sentence them to remain here until they were old enough to leave on their own? They would be miserable._

You must have frozen in place once you’d finished buttoning up your shirt and waistcoat, as a curious murmur of your name from behind you made you turn to look. Sanjana had a quizzical look in her eyes.

“You’ve been staring at the floor for some minutes, now. What is it?”

“You’re from India,” you said, rather dumbly. Sanjana’s brows rose towards her hairline and she tilted her head a bit.

“Yes. I live in Amritsar among other places. Is that what had you so preoccupied?”

“No,” you said quickly, biting your lip and then heaving a sigh and sinking down into a chair. “I...I need your help, Miss Varma. Please.”

Soft footfalls met your ears and Sanjana was suddenly knelt before you, looking worried and determined at once.

“What can I do?”

“If I am left with no choice but to return to London to lead what is left of the Brotherhood there and face Jack, I cannot take my children with me,” you muttered to the woman sitting before you. “I will not drag them back into Jack’s reach.”

Once you’d finished and gave the words a moment to settle, you looked up at Sanjana. She didn’t seem surprised but she did not seem comfortable with the idea, either. You reached out slowly and took one of her hands, clasping it between both of your own.

“It is too much to ask, I know, but I would entrust you to see that they make it safely to India with you when you depart. Jayadeep will take them in to live with their cousins. All are in the Brotherhood and will train them well and protect them.”

Sanjana breathed your name and furrowed her brows.

“What am I to tell them if my time to depart comes and you have not sent word or come to collect them?”

“You tell them the truth,” you said quietly, a sudden, bitter smile springing onto your lips. “You tell them that their mother and father did their best and died protecting them and their Brotherhood, as any true Assassin would.”

The other woman frowned and lowered her gaze, obviously thinking hard upon something.

“If it does come to such a terrible end...yes, I will take your children to India with me. They will reach their uncle unharmed. I give you my word. However, you must have faith in Evie. In your husband. Without our perseverance and belief that tomorrow will come and bring light with it…”

Sanjana paused and looked up at you intently. Her hand gently pulled away from yours and then they both busied themselves with tracing the ornate stitching at the hem of her tunic. She was nervous, you realized, but before you could ask what was bothering her, she spoke.

“I am in love with a woman. Her name is Kaavya Modi. She is a Master in the Indian Brotherhood. She is fierce and strong and sees more in me than anyone before her did. We have been together for nearly ten years and yet we must still pretend that we are nothing but friends outside of the Brotherhood. I cannot do many things with her that you can with Jacob. I cannot marry her, no matter how much I tell her that she is my wife. I often worry that I will return to India to find that she has been killed by a Templar. So frequently she is sent far, far away from me where I couldn’t ever hope to help her if she needed me. Still, I keep my head up. When I return to her in the spring after so many months apart, I will be glad that I did not allow my fear to ruin what I feel for her. You must do the same. Jacob _will_ come back to you. Perhaps not the same as he was, but he will return and he will still love you.”

The confession caught you by surprise. It took a moment for the weight of it and the sincerity of Sanjana’s words to hit you, but once you had taken it all in you couldn’t help but tear up.

“I want to believe that he’s alive,” you breathed out haltingly, head bowing to hide your tears. “I know he is, in my heart. But if Jack has him, then Jacob is likely hurt. He would fight his way free otherwise. I’m afraid that Evie won’t find him. Not in time to help him.”

A gentle hand came to rest on the back of your neck, squeezing lightly.

“She will. If Evie Frye is the Master that I have heard of, she will be victorious.”

You nodded and looked up with as brave a face as you could muster, but you still felt so hollow inside.

“You’re right. I should not despair so soon.”

Sanjana smiled and cupped your face in her palm, patting it gently and then motioning for you to stand.

“You need something to preoccupy your mind and hands. Help me clean my blades.”

Her tone was cheery but, once again, left no room to argue, and so you nodded and followed after her to gather the cleaning supplies and weapons.

Perhaps half an hour later, you were seated opposite of the other Assassin as she sat in her chair by the hearth, kukri cradled in her lap. She had been working the blade over with a rag for some long minutes, tilting it this way and that and squinting at it to check for any stains or scuffs. She had given you one of her hidden blades, and though you didn’t believe it would help, the rhythmic movement of cleaning and polishing the weapon was soothing.

“Tell me about her. Kaavya,” you said at length. One of Sanjana’s brows rose as she rubbed at a stubborn spot on her blade.

“Are you sure? I’ve been told I can go on for far too long about her if I’m given the chance.”

That made you smile. With all of the darkness that had settled upon your life over the past months, hearing something as simple as Sanjana’s voice going soft and affectionate over her lover lifted your spirits.

“I’ve talked about my husband plenty. It’s only fair that you get to talk about your beloved, too.”

The other woman grinned and set her cleaning rag and blade aside, uncrossing her legs and standing from the chair. You watched her move over to one of her trunks and lift the lid, digging down through layers of what looked like clothing until she withdrew a small, wooden box. It was fastened shut with a golden latch. When Sanjana returned to the lounge she sat upon it with feet on the floor, patting the space beside her in invitation. With curious eyes you watched as she opened the box and revealed the contents to be many photographs. Some were of different landscapes, gardens, and temples in what you presumed was India. Sanjana dug through them all, clear to the very bottom, and withdrew two that were wrapped in a thin, gauzy sheet of protective cloth.

“These pictures are a few years old, now, but she is still beautiful,” Sanjana said with a little smile as she handed the pictures over to your waiting hand.

Kaavya _was_ beautiful. Her features were sharp and pronounced, from the fine arch of her dark brows to her aquiline nose and high cheeks. She was sporting a small, silver stud in her left nostril. Thick, lazy waves of black hair framed her face. Sanjana had been truthful when she said Kaavya was fierce; she looked formidable, even sitting still. The difference between the two women’s features was striking — Sanjana certainly had a more gentle, soft face — and yet they went well together. You wondered if Kaavya was as openly appreciative as her lover or if she was quiet and subdued in her affection.

The next picture answered your question. The two women were kissing, Kaavya’s arms around the other’s neck and fingers tangled into her hair while Sanjana caressed her cheek. When you looked up, you saw your companion smiling softly, lost in thought as she studied the photograph.

“These were a gift for my birthday when I turned twenty eight. Kaavya had always been hesitant to have photographs taken of us. She wouldn’t ever admit it but she was afraid of being discovered and persecuted. More for my sake than hers, I think. It was a wonderful surprise when she said that it was what she wanted to give me.”

“Did you take them yourselves, then?”

“Oh, no. We had a friend who knew how to take and develop photographs but did not have access to a camera at the time. I said that we should simply buy one, but Kaavya...had her own ideas. She came home one day with an entire trunk of photography equipment and she looked so wicked and so pleased. I asked where she’d gotten it all and she said she’d stolen it from a rude Englishman who’d just arrived on a steamship.”

That made you laugh despite a sharp pang of sadness at the familiarity of the actions.

“I think she would become fast friends with Jacob, then,” you said with another chuckle and a shake of your head. You flipped back to the first picture and studied the woman some more. Her skin was not quite as dark as Sanjana’s was. “What part of India is she from?”

For a while Sanjana said nothing. She had a slight, troubled crease between her brows as she seemingly searched for words.

“I do not know where in India she was born. Kaavya does not like me to bring it up. I feel that she was possibly born into a lowly regarded class and suffered from it. All she has told me is that she is three years older than I am and that she was orphaned and had to fend for herself. She displayed the gift of Sight as a young girl and would use it to sneak about and steal food, coin, whatever she needed or wanted. Whispers of a magnificent thief began to spread, one who couldn’t be captured by even the best guards from the richest families. Word of it found the Assassins, as it always seems to do. A Master was to investigate, probably expecting a Templar plot. They discovered not an enemy but a gifted child and so they took her in.”

“I am happy that she found acceptance within the Brotherhood and that our paths were set to cross. I saw her for the first time when I was nineteen. It was only in passing as I was leaving a Council meeting and she was arriving, but she...quite entranced me. Her eyes are so _dark_. Like two gems of polished onyx but still so vibrant. When she looked at me, though it was only for a second, I felt like I’d breathed anew.”

“I was desperate to see her again but I could not figure out how to do so without potentially revealing my...preference,” Sanjana said with a wrinkle of her nose. Her blush only intensified as her abashed grin did when she continued. “I felt like a young girl infatuated with someone for the first time. I’d catch a glimpse her perhaps once or twice a month in between my assignments and her own, in a library or in the sparring room or practicing her climbing out in the jungle. I thought that I was being subtle by only admiring her from afar. Foolish mistake that was. I was twenty when she began to follow _me_ everywhere. It was unnerving but exciting and so I let it go on until one day when she cornered me at the top of a temple where I practiced my leaps. She asked what my name was, and I told her, and then she left without so much as a farewell. I thought I’d done something to make her angry and that she was going to report me to the Council.”

“But she didn’t,” you said with a warm smile. Sanjana laughed under her breath.

“No. A week later I was summoned by my Mentor and told that I would be accompanying Kaavya on a mission to Damascus that would last some months. That she had requested me specifically because she heard that I was skilled,” Sanjana said, and then her voice went impossibly softer and dream like. “We were away from India for nearly half a year. I turned twenty one and Kaavya became my best friend and my preferred partner in the field, even as I fell in love with her. I cannot say when her feelings for me began. She was somewhat withdrawn in her younger years. I noticed it gradually; she would smile more at things I said and stared at me while I was braiding my hair or reading a book. When we sparred she would laugh and offer her hand to help me up after she’d knocked me down and always helped rub linaments into my sore muscles where I could not reach. We took meals together and eventually began sharing joint quarters.”

“Still, I was afraid I was misunderstanding her actions and projecting my own desires onto her friendship. It was cowardly of me but I refused to be the one to broach the subject. I would have prefered to have her in my life as simply my friend rather than approach her romantically and lose her forever. Thankfully, I didn’t have to. She came to me one evening, agitated and restless. I asked her if she was okay and she asked outright if she could kiss me. Just like that, as if she were only asking to borrow a blade. I was...terrified...but I said yes. I said that I desired nothing more than to kiss her and I have been for ten years, now.”

Sanjana sounded so happy that you couldn’t help but be infected by it. You carefully handed the pictures back to her and she tucked them away after one last peek. While she went to put them back into the bottom of her trunk, your thoughts, inspired by Sanjana’s story, drifted back to when you’d really _met_ Jacob for the first time.

_Henry had been gone for a few hours, doing his routine patrol and checking in with his friends who lived in the streets and beneath them. You’d gone yesterday, so now it was your turn to watch the shop. Most of the time it was quiet. Boring, really. With so little chance to go up against the Templars and come away the winner, you spent your time helping Henry help those in need rather than taking on the Order directly. It had been that way for a few years, now. It was growing harder and harder to not be bitter about it. Sometimes, after a few drinks at the end of a particularly difficult day, you and Henry would talk about leaving. About disappearing and going to America or the islands in the warm, southern oceans of the world and forgetting all about the Assassins and Templars. It seemed as if the Brotherhood in Crawley had already forgotten about the pair of you, so what would it matter if you left it all behind?_

_You were taking stock of the day old dinner rolls and loaves of bread that Henry had acquired from a bakery in the City of London. The Templars had a stranglehold on literally all manners of production from steel to medicine to food, but Henry had still managed to make an ally who gave him leftover breads rather than throwing them out. You sighed as you finished counting the final box and tallied up the total. There were fifty rolls and ten loaves of bread. It wasn’t enough to divide up between the usual families and orphans that you served in Whitechapel. Henry would be upset when you told him._

_As if on cue, the front door to the shop opened with a tinkle of a bell. You covered the boxes with some cheesecloth and opened your mouth to call out a greeting when a strange noise stopped you. It was the sound of something tipping over and a low, muffled swear. It made your heart leap into your throat and begin pounding. Henry never, ever stumbled into things in his own shop. He wasn’t called The Ghost because he was a bumbling clod._

_Templars. Your mind warned, and you crouched down low and crept to the doorway that led to the front of the shop. There was a bookcase against the wall to the immediate right of the door, which gave you more cover to peek around and assess the situation. You hadn’t been mistaken. There was a strange man standing in the shop._

_All you could see was his back, his broad shoulders and thick waist covered by a rather beaten looking coat. He had dark, shaggy hair peeking out from beneath a cap on his head. He was leaned over and inspecting an open book sitting out atop the display case of the shop. You still had the advantage of surprise on your side and you slowly slipped out from behind the bookcase and approached him. Just as you got within arms reach of the intruder he began to turn towards you._

_Alarm raced through you and before you’d even had chance to think, you lashed out with a vicious right hook that caught him on the high bone of his cheek. The man yelped, clearly shocked, and staggered back into the case. You had him pinned against it upon his chest a second later, left arm trapped beneath his body and the right wrenched around cruelly and held to the small of his back. Your left hand went to his neck and with a flick of the wrist your blade was out and pressed over the line of his artery._

_“Who are you?” You hissed into his ear. He smelled like he’d been playing about in a foundry all day. Typical of the Templars to pay off an impoverished man to do their work for them. It wouldn’t matter to them if a lowly spy was killed, after all. When the man remained silent, only shifting a little beneath you, you knocked the cap from his head and fisted a hand into his hair. The glass of the case rattled ominously as you banged his cheek against it._

_“Do you think I’m bloody playing? Tell me. Now!”_

_“Oi, be gentle! That’s my good side. How else will I make any coin if you muck it up,” the man simpered through a grin. You were thrown off guard for a split second; he wasn’t afraid. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye and the mirth and mischief that gleamed in his hazel gaze was maddening. You pressed the razor edge of your blade up into the tender underside of his jaw, hard enough to make a line of blood well up through the slice in his flesh. The sting of pain as his skin was pierced seemed to sober the stranger. He made a soft, protesting noise and licked his lips._

_“All right. Easy, there, love,” the man said slowly, raising his free hand in surrender. “I think you’ll find we’ve more in common than a fantastic right hook.”_

_As you had grabbed the man from his right side, you hadn’t seen the heft of the hidden blade strapped to his left wrist until he unwedged his arm from between his body and the display case. The leather that held the blade in place looked as beaten and worn as the rest of his clothing, so you were sure it hadn’t been stolen. Immediately you released him, embarrassed and ashamed that you’d held your blade to a fellow Assassin._

_You hadn’t done it a moment too soon. Seconds later, Henry came through the doorway with a raven haired woman trailing after him. As you took in her pale, freckled face and blue eyes, an overwhelming rush of familiarity seized you. You didn’t have to take into account her manner of dress or weaponry to know that she was also an Assassin and that you’d seen her, though not for some time._

_Before you could dwell upon it, Henry hesitantly stepped over to you. He looked startled, gaze flitting between the ruffled, bleeding man and then to your still extended blade. You flicked your wrist at once to sheathe it, feeling like a naughty child who’d been caught stealing sweets._

_“What in the world happened?”_

_An apology was already on your tongue but you were cut off as the woman snorted and laughed at the man now leaning against the case and gingerly touching the cut on his neck. Now that he was upright and facing you, you realized in utter dismay that you recognized him, too. Not well, and he was certainly a stranger in the social sense, but his face...even with the scars you didn’t remember and the dark hair on his jaw line, you knew that you had seen him years before in Crawley. Even if he had been a little scrawnier back then._

_“We’ve been in London for half an hour, Jacob. Please try to make it to the end of at least one day,” the young woman sighed, rolling her eyes as Jacob gave a big, theatrical yawn and waved her off._

_“Oh, Evie. Don’t be silly. It’s refreshing after living in that tomb in Crawley.”_

_“Jacob and Evie? Frye? Ethan Frye’s children?”_

_You asked, incredulous and confused and just a little worried because Jacob had a reputation that preceded him, as did Evie, albeit a more positive one. Further, Ethan Frye had always kept the pair on a tight leash and away from many others in Crawley while he saw to their schooling and training. It was surprising not to see their father looming behind them as was his wont._

_Both twins looked amused. Evie smiled a little in greeting while Jacob smirked._

_“In the flesh, love,” he said with a grand, sweeping motion of his arms as if to display himself for you. He eyed you closely and then tilted his head and hummed. “I recognize the face, I think, but you’ve got me at a disadvantage where a name is concerned.”_

_You opened your mouth to reply when Henry sighed heavily, wringing his hands together and casting a nervous look sideways at Evie._

_“I hope this does not change you wanting to be here with us. We have no choice but to be vigilant to the point of paranoia, it seems.”_

_“Absolutely not. We’re here to help,” Evie replied at once, meeting Henry’s relieved smile with one of her own._

_“I’m so sorry,” you finally said in a rush. “I didn’t...he came in here without you, Henry. I thought he was a Templar, or at least one of their spies looking for information.”_

_“We could only be so lucky. If he were a Templar, their Order would self destruct within a month,” the woman said with a tired smile at Jacob’s petulant mumble under his breath. She then held an arm out and looked at Henry as if to give him permission to lead onward. “Please, Mister Green. Let’s have a look at the manuscripts you have.”_

_Though Evie followed eagerly after Henry into the back rooms of his shop, Jacob stayed behind. He was absently fiddling with a shilling hanging about his neck on a leather cord, studying a map of the sewer tunnels that Henry had drawn up himself and framed. Unsure of what to do now that you were alone with Jacob, you moved around to hop up and sit on the edge of the display case so that you could watch him. Regardless of how hard you thought back, you could barely remember him from when you’d lived in Crawley. All you could muster up was a leanly built young man, still in the process of building his muscle and skills and a scar free face; a far cry from the stout figure before you. The only thing that you definitely recalled was that he was a troublemaker. Or he was according to the older members of the Brotherhood, anyway. Hopefully that had been untrue, or that he had mellowed slightly so that he would be somewhat helpful if he meant to stay in London._

_Sadly, Jacob didn’t let you look at him for long. After he’d made one loop around the shop and peered at all of Henry’s books and maps and knickknacks, he came to stand beside you and flashed a friendly grin._

_“So, you’re Mister Green’s...house keeper? Guard dog?”_

_Jacob asked as he hoisted himself up to sit atop the case beside you. He knocked his booted feet together as he swung his legs. It was an endearing picture, him sitting there in all his tattered, patchwork clothing and little newsboy cap. Or it would have been had he not just opened his mouth. Still, he sounded like he simply wanted to banter. To play with you. Not cause real offense. Maybe it was his way of putting you at ease after the little scuffle you’d had._

_“I suppose,” you replied, keeping your tone as flat and bored as possible as you peeked at him out of the corner of your eye. “Someone has to wait here in case bullheaded young men come traipsing in like they own the place. It’s my job to give them a well deserved boot to their bawbles.”_

_That earned a deep chuckle from the man._

_“Or cut their throat, hmm?”_

_“Mmm. On occasion. We have a rather nasty infestation of Blighters around here and that seems to be the premiere way of scaring them off for a week or two. For a bunch of thugs who parade about like they’re going to march on the Palace, they don’t seem to be able to handle the sight of their own blood.”_

_Jacob’s legs stopped swinging and he looked at you, expression stunned for a split second before it gave way to something more elusive. Approval, maybe, or admiration at your words. You had to look away lest you allow the heat simmering in your belly manifest as a blush. That was the last thing you wanted after everything else foolish you’d done today._

_“Well, I’m rather glad that you failed spectacularly at your job, then. It’d be a bit difficult to kill Crawford Starrick from the grave.”_

_Your witty retort died on your tongue at the man’s words. Your expression must have sobered quickly because Jacob raised a brow quizzically. Before he could get a word out you leaned forward in earnest, licking your lips._

_“That’s why you’re here? To kill Starrick?”_

_Jacob considered you at length and then nodded, a slight wrinkle forming on his nose as he furrowed his brows in a determined expression._

_“I’m tired of hiding in Crawley. Of listening to scared old men who’d preach patience even with their dying breath. My father would have had Evie and I waiting until we were sixty to make our move and it’s nonsense,” Jacob said, his voice quickening in pace as he grew more animated in his speech. He jabbed a finger towards the front window of the shop where you could see carriages and people passing by. “I’m not afraid. I’ll not be bullied into submission by anyone. London is waiting to be liberated and I’m not leaving until Mister Starrick’s throat meets my blade.”_

_He sounded so youthful and inexperienced, rash and rearing to go regardless of the risk. It was a dangerous attitude to have, certainly, and yet...Jacob Frye had a passion in him that you hadn’t seen in some time. In his view it wasn’t a question of if he would succeed. It was merely how and when. Truth be told, you were tired of hiding, too. Tired of watching Henry send letters to Crawley that went unanswered. With the Frye siblings here, it was possible. It would be beyond perilous and difficult, but not out of the question. Your stomach fluttered with excitement._

_“I rather like that idea, Mister Frye,” you replied, voice soft but earnest. “I’m tired of hiding, too. That’s why I left Crawley in the first place to come help Mister Green, but...it has been hard and we’ve very little to show for our efforts. Two of us are no match against the Blighters and the Templar Order. Their strength grows immeasurably with each passing month.”_

_Jacob seemed a little bit surprised that you agreed with him so readily and simultaneously sympathetic to your struggle. He tilted his head and bumped his shoulder into yours._

_“What is your name, then, you bricky girl?”_

_You laughed at the pet name and rolled your eyes but told him what he wanted to know. Jacob’s expression softened slightly and he smiled, repeating the name and nodding thoughtfully._

_“You’re the one who took off in the middle of the night without so much as a peep,” Jacob said with a grin. “The Council had quite a fit about you, you rebellious tart. They were afraid others would follow your lead and that there’d be a mass exodus. Never did hear much about you after a couple of months. I suppose they decided to pretend you were dead and move on.”_

_You snorted derisively and shrugged._

_“That suits me just fine. They’ll not get to take any credit for when we liberate London ourselves.”_

_“How vindictive of you,” Jacob said with a grin. “But you’re right. We’ll be the greatest Assassins this city has ever seen. Us. All on our own.”_

_You couldn’t help but smile back at him._

  


Despite the lighthearted feeling that stayed with you for a while after your talk with Sanjana, when the day of Jacob’s forty-first birthday came you were once again sullen and withdrawn. For the sake of your children you went through the daily motions. You spent time with Alma in the library directly following breakfast, helping her find books and instructing her in both the benefits and the pitfalls of the tenets of the Creed and the philosophies of the Brotherhood. The schooling of Assassin children was rigorous and you were glad that Alma had taken to it with relative ease. Even Jacob, who had never been one for the scholarly side of the Brotherhood, was proud of her sharp mind and encouraged her to always learn more. Typically she was eager to listen and participate in discussions but on that day seemed listless and quiet. In between one lesson and the next, she finally spoke in the form of a question.

“Why did no one from Crawley come to help you and father the way you did to help Uncle Jaya in London when he was alone? I thought we were part of the same Brotherhood regardless of where we lived.”

She sounded confused and angry about the entire situation. Understanding the nuances of the Brotherhood and how fragile some loyalties between different factions of Assassins were wasn’t a subject that you liked to talk about. Not when it hit so close to home. You knew that Alma deserved an explanation, though, so you sighed and sat upon the edge of the table you two had been using.

“We are all a part of the Brotherhood. We all follow the same tenets, regardless of where we were born or where we are in the world. But we are not all the same,” you said softly. “There are some who prefer to wait until the opportune time to strike. It’s a wise choice many times, but it can often be a foolish path to follow unerringly when the enemy is acting and you are not. Some of us would sooner create an opportune time than wait for one to appear naturally. It is difficult for those two camps to see eye to eye. We’re Assassins but we’re also human. Disagreements and pride and petty squabbles can still arise amongst us. There have been Assassin leaders killed by members of their Brotherhoods in the past over differences in how things should be done. Templars are not always the greatest threat to the stability of our way of life.”

“Father couldn’t come with us because he doesn’t think and behave the way they do here?”

“Partially, yes. The Council here is not particularly fond of your father. He was a wild young man. He disobeyed them and took great risk when he went to London with your aunt to face Crawford Starrick. He’s one of us who prefers to create an opportunity rather than wait years for one to appear. I love him for it but not everyone shares my view. Such is the nature of humanity.”

Alma mulled your words over, chewing her lip a little and furrowing her brows before she folded her arms and huffed.

“What a bunch of old pricks. No wonder you and father and Auntie Evie left.”

“Alma Frye,” you said sternly, but you were sure she saw the little twitch of amusement at the corners of your lips. “Mind your tongue, you little viper. We’re not in our own home.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” she said in an utterly insincere tone. You pursed your lips and gave her a little swat on her shoulder as you stood and walked past her.

When you left Alma after another quarter of an hour, she had taken out some paper and a pen and ink and was writing down notes from an old text about Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad and his disagreements with the Creed. Perhaps she felt comforted by the dissenting attitude given how her own rebellious father had been treated by his Brotherhood. The familiarity likely gave her some solace.

Emmett, on the other hand, seemed to have taken his tears and worries and forced them to turn to anger and determination. When you found him in the sparring room with the other youngest Initiates, he was engaged in mock combat. He was red in the face, dark hair matted to his forehead with sweat as he swung his staff mercilessly at a willowy young man a good hand or two taller who looked rather alarmed at the ferocity with which he was being pursued. You took a seat quietly on one of the long, wooden benches around the edge of the room and watched. The resemblance between Emmett and his father was obvious enough but when you watched the boy fight, you saw nothing but twenty year old Jacob all over again. He had the same wild, unhinged look in his eyes and snarled, just as Jacob tended to.

A moment later and Emmett had caught the other boy on the knuckles with his staff, making him lose his grip so that the smaller by could disarm him and hold him in place with the blunt end of his staff jammed up under his jaw. They regarded each other for a moment and then stepped back a few paces and nodded respectfully. The taller boy looked beyond Emmett, then, and saw you. He raised his brows which caused your son to turn about as well. The hard expression on his face eased into concern and he took a step towards you.

“All right, mum?”

“Yes, darling,” you said at once with a faint smile, waving him off. “Go back to your training. I’m only taking a short break here. Don’t pay me any mind.”

Reassured by your tone that no other terrible news had arrived from Evie, the boy nodded and turned back to the group to ask another Initiate, a girl with dark hair wound up and pinned atop her head, if she’d spar. She looked him up and down, shrugged and nodded, and you watched with barely concealed delight as she swept Emmett’s legs out from under him in less than a minute. He looked properly embarrassed as he hopped back up to his feet, but he grinned when she jabbed him lightly with the staff and backed away, hips swaying and enticing him into another round with a half smirk. Foolish young thing that he was, Emmett received a solid kick to his solar plexus that knocked him flat before he could even hope to swing at her. The girl stood over him as he groaned and gasped, but she did offer her hand after a moment of gloating. He took it with a huff and a smile and went after her again. The interaction was a reminder that he wasn’t a little boy any more. It wouldn’t be much longer — perhaps a year or two — before he would be sent out on his first mission by Jacob.

 _By Jacob._ You thought firmly. Not you. Not anyone else. Jacob would be alive to see his son complete his first mission as a fledgling Assassin. You refused to think otherwise.

You and Sanjana were up late that evening, sipping tea and quietly discussing the matter of her return to India with your children under her care. Emmett and Alma had been asleep for a good hour but you still spoke hardly above a whisper, not wanting them to overhear and create a fuss in protest. The two of you agreed that it would be wisest to take a steamship to Egypt and then travel through the Brotherhood network over land until they reached Amritsar. The Assassins along the way would be able to provide better shelter than being stuck in a ship for weeks at sea.

Just after eleven, as Sanjana had risen to remove her coat and hidden blade and prepare for sleep, a sharp rapping of a hand upon the door pierced the quiet. She looked around, startled with brows raised, and then hurried over to answer. You could not see who it was at first, as she’d only opened the door a crack to peer out, but then she gave a bow of her head in greeting and opened the door further. Master Osborne stood in the hall, dressed in a long nightshirt with a finely made, black dressing gown overtop it. He looked disheveled, as if he’d only woken a short time ago, but the urgency in his eyes belied his groggy appearance. He nodded in greeting as you came to stand beside Sanjana at the door.

“A telegram, madame,” he said without preamble, holding his hand out. Indeed, a card of stiff paper was clutched in his fingers. You snatched it from him at once, turning it over so that the message in bold print was visible.

_Jack is gone. Dead by my hand. Jacob is alive. I’ve taken him to your manor and have him under guard. He needs you. I need your guidance on how to proceed. Return at once._

This time your hands did not shake and you did not feel overwhelmed, closed in on all sides. The fog of doubt and fear and uncertainty had been lifted. Everything felt clearer, sharp and you understood what needed to be done. Jacob was alive and you were needed, simple as that.

“Jacob has been found. I need to go to him,” you said, voice steely and determined. Judging by Evie’s words, Jacob was indeed injured and you had to be at his side. There was no alternative. “Are the trains still running this late in the evening?”

“No. The next passenger train leaving for London isn’t until six o’clock tomorrow morning,” Sanjana said with a distressed frown.

“That’s eight hours from now. I can’t wait that long,” you gritted out. You turned and looked to Master Osborne, who had been observing the conversation silently. He eyed you closely as you stepped into the hall towards him with a clearly pleading expression. “I need a carriage. Not a large one; two horses would be adequate. I can drive it myself. Please.”

“It is late and raining hard. It would be a hazardous journey,” Osborne said with a slight tilt of his head. He was clearly thinking upon the prospect. He could show humility and mercy by allowing you to depart hours before the trains began running again. However, he could just as easily refuse.

“I’ll take the risk,” you countered without hesitation. You squared your shoulders a little and held his gaze as you went on. “Please, sir. I’m asking you to give me a carriage.”

Master Osborne looked from you to Sanjana and then shook his head.

“I cannot do that, madame.”

“You utter bast—”

“I can, however,” Osborne went on with a raised tone, expression one that begged you hold your tongue, “send written permission with you to the station in Crawley so that you may travel to London on our private train. It may take a short time for them to get the engine going and bring the conductor, but...you will not need to wait until dawn to return to your husband.”

A train. A private one at that, so you would not have to deal with delays or stops. You could be back in London within an hour of leaving Crawley. Back home, to see Evie and Jacob. He was alive and he was waiting and he suddenly seemed so very, very near. The offer as such a surprise that you didn’t know what to say, stunned and staring at Master Osborne with wide eyes. However, it seemed that he didn’t want to make the moment into anything more than what it was; he inclined his head slightly and then turned on his heel to move down the hallway at a decent pace.

“I suggest you pack your belongings with haste. I’ll have the note of explanation ready shortly,” he said in an even tone as he looked back over his shoulder at you. “Go now. Wake your children. You’re needed elsewhere.”

You watched him go, until he’d turned a corner and was out of sight, and still you couldn’t find words. You would have stood there like a fool, mouth slightly ajar and body numb had Sanjana not taken you by the arm and gently shaken you.

“Did you not hear him? We have to hurry and gather your things,” Sanjana said, her voice rising and pitching high with excitement. That seemed to snap you out of your daze; you looked at her, clutching her smiling face in your hands and taking a shaky breath.

“He’s alive... _he’s alive_ , Sanjana,” you said in a rush, and then you spun about and barged back into the shared quarters, yelling as you went for Emmett and Alma to wake up, wake up at once and get out of bed because the three of you had a train to catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. Chapter 5

It was pouring rain, as Master Osborne had warned, when you and Sanjana clambered up into the driver’s seat of a massive carriage pulled by a team of four burly chestnut horses. Emmett and Alma were already inside, wearing their pajamas under their overcoats and messily laced boots on their stockinged feet. Packing had been a whirlwind affair of shoving anything within sight into the nearest trunk and Osborne’s note of permission had been waiting with an Initiate at the front door of the manor when you all ascended from below. You hadn’t been sure if the other woman would come along, but when she raised her hood and stepped out into the storm to help load the trunks, you felt relieved that she was going to see you off at the station.

The road into town was a dreadful mess and you were glad for the larger team of horses to pull you all along through the muck. The rain was merciless and bitterly cold and by the time you could make out the shape of the railway station in the distance, you were quite soaked and shivering but you did not complain. Not a negative thought crossed your mind because you were returning to London where Jacob was waiting for you.

Thankfully the drive alongside the station was covered, giving the horses and yourselves a reprieve from the weather as you clambered down with Sanjana. She took the note from Osborne into the station to find the guards for the Brotherhood’s train and explain the situation while you grabbed the first worker you could to help you unload the luggage and lug it inside. Emmett and Alma were fairly flitting around like nervous birds, eyes wide and disbelieving even as you told them to hop up into the first train car and find a place to sit. They scrambled to do so and when you were certain the luggage had been seen to, you stepped out onto the platform where Sanjana was stood, speaking with another Assassin. Her hair was dripping wet and she looked thoroughly chilled but when she turned to you she smiled and reached out, drawing you in for a tight embrace.

“I am so happy for you,” she said in earnest, pulling back enough to look you in the eyes and cup your face in her hands. “I will send word in a week or two. Please let me know how he is faring. If time permits, I will come see you in the spring before I leave for India.”

“I would love it if you did, my friend,” you said softly, touching her face and smiling. “Thank you for everything.”

Sanjana’s smile took on an abashed edge and she hugged you once more before giving you a little push towards the train. You could hear the faint hissing of steam from the engine as it grew hot and ready to go. A short burst of the train’s whistle followed, warning of its departure.

“Go to your husband, now. We will meet again.”

You turned and reached up to grab the hand hold beside the door to the train car, hopping up onto the narrow platform and turning back to smile at the other woman. She was simply smiling, and when the train lurched and the wheels began to turn with a screeching noise, she raised a hand in farewell. You returned the gesture, leaning out from the edge of the car to get one final look at her as the train picked up speed. Her hooded figure grew smaller, features blurring with distance, and then she disappeared from sight as the train took the first bend out of the station.

The rain on your face was stinging and so you finally ducked back and hurried into the train car where the children sat. As you settled down opposite of them, you fished your pocket watch out from inside of your coat and flipped the cover open. It was after midnight. Rather than tucking the watch away, you set it out on seat beside you. At the rate that the train was moving, it wouldn’t take more than three quarters of an hour to arrive and you knew you’d only end up looking at your watch every five minutes if you put it away again.

  


As the train rolled into London through Lambeth and Southwark you realized that, in your haste to return home, you hadn’t asked which station you would be dropped at. It soon became apparent when you crossed the Thames and the train began to slow. You were in Whitechapel. Precisely the place you didn’t want to be at this time of night, and especially not with your children in tow. After all, Jack was dead but his gang was not.

The station was empty save for a night watchman and a few employees who minded supply and industrial use trains that came through. They seemed surprised when the train stopped and you hopped down to the platform followed by your children. You said nothing in explanation as you unloaded the luggage onto a trolley and beckoned your children to follow after you and to stay close and be quiet.

Outside on the street, you had to walk a fair distance to a lone carriage parked outside of an apartment building. No one appeared from inside to protest as you loaded the first of the three trunks onto the back of the carriage but you still moved with haste. As you stacked Alma’s trunk atop of your own and double checked that the lid was latched tight, a low, faint noise met your ears. You paused, head turning slightly as you listened. When the sound came again, your muscles coiled in preparation to lash out. Though far off, the chortling laughter of men was unmistakable and you whipped your head around to look behind yourself.

Despite the thick wall of fog, your Sight easily picked out the shapes of five men striding down the middle of the street. At this hour and in this borough, it could only mean trouble. There wouldn’t be enough time to load all of the luggage before they were on top of you. Taking a slow, deep breath, you turned your head back to look at your children. They had just wrestled the third trunk over to sit behind the carriage and bent to try to hoist it up when you stopped them.

“Emmett. Alma,” you said very softly, hands withdrawing from the trunk and going to your belt. “Get in the carriage. _Don’t_ argue with me. Get in now. Close the curtains, latch the doors and lie down in the bottom of it. Don’t get up until I say.”

Your tone made them both freeze, eyes darting around for any immediate danger. Then, after one more thunderous look from you, Emmett took Alma by the arm and hurried her around to the other side of the carriage. You heard the door open and felt the compartment rock a little as they clambered up inside, and then the door shut and latched with a soft click. You would have checked to see if they’d obeyed and shut the curtains but a wheedling, snide voice from behind you stopped you in your tracks.

“That’s a lot o’ luggage for one lady, madame. You look like you could use a firm hand to help you...if you give my whore pipe a go, of course.”

That earned more bawdy laughing and howling. Perhaps they were drunk, you mused as you rolled your eyes.

“And end up pissing pins and needles? No thank you,” you replied curtly, hoping they would curse you and be on their way. For a moment it seemed that was what they’d do but then a loud, rough voice cut through the vitriolic swearing in your direction.

“Oi, you stupid bastards, look at ‘er coat! She’s an Assassin! S’a rare sight these days, ‘at is.”

“Well, well. Apparently she ain’t heard that this borough is ours, now,” the same wheedling voice from before spoke again. When you didn’t respond, the voice grew angry and raised several octaves. “Oi! Ain’t you heard that Jacob Frye is dead? There aren’t any Assassins left in London. None that can match Jack the Ripper!”

Their words skittered along your nerves and welled hotly in your chest, not with fear but with rage. They were traitors. Jacob had needed them and they’d sided with Jack instead. However, your lips twitched in dark amusement. They didn’t know that Jacob was alive. That Evie had killed Jack. They were expecting you to fear retribution from a monster who no longer drew breath.

“What’s the matter? Nothin’ to say?” The gruff voice demanded when you still hadn’t risen to the bait and turned about to face them. Heavy, stomping footfalls on the waterlogged cobblestone made you close your eyes and inhale slowly, your fingers curling around the handle of the kukri tucked inside your coat. You didn’t have time for this. Jacob was waiting for you.

When a big hand grabbed your upper left arm and wrenched you about, you simply spun with the momentum of it, pulling your blade free as you did and swinging it in a vicious upward arc. The tip of it caught the man near his navel and laced him open clear to his breastbone. He hardly had time to register what you’d done before your wrist blade was buried in his throat. You grabbed him by the jaw and turned him so that his companions could see the blood pouring from his belly and neck, and then you jerked your blade free and let him slump down to the street.

“Assassin bitch!”

One of the smaller men yelled, and you backed up several steps, legs slightly bent in a defensive stance as he pulled a knife from his trousers and sprinted for you. The angle at which the rain fell from the sky worked in your favor, hindering his vision enough for you to easily duck under his arm as he swung the blade. A quick jab between his ribs and into his lung sent him to the ground where he laid, bleeding and wheezing and gurgling horribly in a puddle of rainwater.

Your body was moving on instinct, now. Muscle memory and adrenaline spurred you onward as you planted one foot and pivoted, hurling the kukri as if it were nothing but a little throwing knife. It cut through the air with a menacing whoosh before it sank into the breast of one of the three men left as they closed the distance between you and them. He screamed, clutching at the hooked blade protruding from his chest as he staggered and stumbled, and then fell hard upon his back and did not rise as his remaining companions leapt over his prone figure. One of them held a knife while the other brandished a billy club, likely stolen from an officer.

Short one weapon, you had no choice but to take on the other two men with only your hands and wrist blade. Firing a gun would surely startle the horse attached to the carriage into a frenzied gallop and your children could be harmed as a result. As the thug holding the knife reached you and struck out, blade aiming for your chest, your hand shot up to grab him by the wrist. A brutal, wrenching twist produced a sickening popping sound in the delicate joint and the man's hand spasmed, knife dropping somewhere about your feet. Before he could recover and try to free himself from your hold, you jerked him toward you to meet the hard brass knuckles of your gauntlet upon his throat. The blow crushed his windpipe at once, blood bubbling up between his lips as he choked.

Satisfied that he would pose no further threat, you allowed him to collapse to the street and immediately turned to face the final man. His club was already heading for your face, leaving only enough time to bring up a forearm to take the brunt of the attack. With his arm still extended and vulnerable, you plunged the hidden blade into the muscle of his bicep until the tip of the weapon exited the back side of his arm. As you withdrew the blade you brought the hard curve of your knee up to slam into his groin, and as his knees buckled you fisted a hand into his hair and smashed his face into your kneecap. His nose cracked under the pressure, blood flowing free like water from a kettle spout. You cast him down onto his back in the street, then, and stalked after him as he scrambled backward on his ass, feet kicking at the street to propel himself away in blubbering panic.

“Please,” he cried as you kicked his club away and took out your revolver, holding it level with his rain soaked face. His eyes were wide, skinny chest heaving with sobs as he gazed up into your hooded face. “Please, don’t! I’ve got a wife and baby at ‘ome—”

Your boot landing square on his chest, knocking him flat onto the cobblestone, cut him off. He whimpered as you swiftly knelt, planting a knee on his belly to pin him in place. The cold bite of the revolver barrel jammed up under his chin made him go deathly pale and he closed his eyes. Rather than pulling the trigger, you jerked the gun up and smacked him across the line of his cheekbone with the cylinder of it, lacing his skin open and earning a choked yelp as the force knocked his head onto the street.

“Look at me,” you hissed, shaking him by the collar of his shirt with one hand while the other reached up to push your hood back from your face. When he did squint up at you through the falling rain, horrified recognition blossomed on his bloodied face. “You know who I am, yes?”

He nodded dumbly, speechless and terrified.

“Good,” you said sharply, and then you dug the end of the revolver barrel into his temple and leaned down until your nose nearly touched his. “I’m not going to kill you. Not tonight. You’re going to be my messenger. You’re going to tell every single Rook that abandoned Jacob Frye that I’m going to come for them. You’ll tell them that Jack the Ripper is dead and that this borough belongs to me. Tell them that I will take it from Jack’s pathetic gang with as much force as I deem necessary.”

The man nodded again quickly, and when you released him and stood upright, he simply laid before you, trembling and breathing shallowly as he clutched at the deep wound where you’d run his arm through.

“Go! Before I change my mind!” You barked at him, holding him at gunpoint to force him up onto hands and knees and then onto his feet. He stumbled over the edge of the pavement and nearly went down again, catching himself on the front door of a business and righting himself before taking off down the street at a dead run. He didn’t glance backward once, and after you cast a wary look about with your Sight to make sure you were alone, you hurried back to the carriage.

Before you could raise a hand to knock upon the window and tell the children that it was safe, the carriage door burst open. Emmett sprang out onto the street, expression one of utter awe as he grabbed you around the middle in a fierce hug.

“Mother, that was amazing! I knew father was a brilliant fighter but I’d never seen you—”

You hushed him softly, though not unkindly, and pushed him back towards the carriage.

“I may be your mother but I was an Assassin first, you silly boy. Now come on, into the carriage. We need to get home.”

Emmett seemed to remember himself at that, the excitement of watching you fight fading away as he nodded with a serious expression and hopped right back in with Alma, closing the door firmly behind himself. You went back to finish loading the final trunk and then clambered up to the driver’s seat and took hold of the reins. For a moment you hesitated, unsure if you should leave the bodies out in plain view like this, but your impatience won out and you flicked the reins, coaxing the horses into a brisk trot down the street.

  


Several of the windows, both upstairs and on the ground floor of the manor, shone light out into the stormy night as you pulled the horses to a halt before the archway over the front walk. Almost immediately the door to your home flew open. From that distance you could see nothing but a silhouette and, though the person looked to be the same height as Jacob, they were definitely of a more feminine figure. You had spent so much time in the cold that night that your fingers were numb, even inside of your gloves, and you nearly lost your grip as you climbed down from the carriage and hurried forward. The figure also set off down the front steps to meet you halfway, and when you saw Evie’s pale, grave looking face through the downpour you fairly flung yourself at her, a strangled noise bursting from your lips as she gripped hard at your back with one hand while the other cradled your head against her shoulder.

“Welcome home, Sister,” she breathed, hardly loud enough for you to hear over the sound of the pouring rain.

Once the children had joined you, Evie led the way back inside. You shouted for the first guard you saw to see to the luggage and carriage out front and then spun on heel to look at your sister in law. She had aged, had more wrinkles on her forehead and smile lines on either side of her lips, but her eyes and freckles were as vivid as they’d been the last time you had seen her. Your attention then swung back to the pressing matter at hand almost as quickly as it had left and you furrowed your brows.

“Where is Jacob?”

“I put him in your bed. I wasn’t—”

“You two,” you said sharply, turning your attention to Emmett and Alma where they stood off to the side. They looked afraid and confused, shivering a little as they huddled together. “Go change your clothes and get to bed. I don’t want you underfoot tonight.”

With that you turned and made a mad dash up the stairs. Your children and Evie called after you as you ran, taking the steps two at a time. Your wet clothes left a trail of water as you moved and your boots slipped a little on the wooden floor, but you were undeterred. Your sudden appearance and likely your haggard physical state startled the guard posted outside of the bedroom door. You didn’t slow down, knocking them aside with a snapped Get out of my way. as you grabbed the door handle and wrenched it downward, flinging the door open.

Just as Evie has said, Jacob laid in your bed, stripped of seemingly all of his clothes though his lower half was covered by the thinnest sheet of the linens. He was propped up by a few pillows and it allowed you to see the gaunt shape of his unshaven face and the faint sheen of sweat upon his brow. He left eye looked raw and bruised and terribly swollen. There was a patch of thin cloth bundled around something and held in place by a bandage over the upper left portion of his chest. You’d expected him to open his eyes at the sound of the door opening but he did not move save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“What is this? What’s wrong with him?” You demanded as you strode across the room to stand at the side of the bed. The covered lump of one of Jacob’s legs was within reach and you placed your hand upon it, massaging his lax muscles. He didn’t react to the touch. You heard soft footfalls behind you and then a hand rested upon your back, rubbing gently between your shoulder blades.

“He suffered a stab wound. I’d feared as much when I went to his hideout and found blood all over the floor. It had festered by the time I found him,” Evie said quietly. “I’ve been applying a fresh poultice that Jayadeep taught me every couple of hours. Much of the infection has been drawn out that way, but he still has a touch of a fever. He’s very weak. I haven’t sent for a physician yet...it’s been difficult to know who I can truly trust in this city. I wanted to wait for you to be here so that you could make the decision.”

“What do you mean by that? Have there been other Initiates or Assassins who stood against you?”

“No,” Evie said at once, shaking her head and frowning. “No. I only...Mister Abberline threatened to have me imprisoned for crimes I did not...crimes that I would not ever commit. Jack framed me for them and Abberline was barely willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. If he’d had his way, Jacob would likely have died there beneath Lambeth.”

“Imprisoned?” You said, aghast and angry. You wanted to ask what exactly had gone on during her time in London, but when you looked back to Jacob, pale and feeble in your bed, you pushed the questions aside. It could wait. Evie would be able to explain later. A deep, slow breath steadied your nerves and you reached out to touch Jacob’s face.

“Send for Doctor Lehman of St. Bartholomews’. He’s been working alongside our Brotherhood for years, treating our injuries privately. Tell him that Jacob Frye is in dire need of his expertise,” you said quietly as you stroked the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone. “Evie...is he going to die?”

Evie’s hand smoothed up to the back of your neck and squeezed firmly.

“I’m not a physician. I cannot say. The wound looks bad but Jacob is strong and was in good health before this,” she said quietly, bending to press a kiss to her brother’s brow before standing and going to the door. “I’ll hurry and find the doctor. If I see a maid on the way out, I’ll tell her to bring some water to a boil. I’m sure we’ll need it.”

You nodded, suddenly voiceless as your throat tightened. Gingerly you sat down upon the edge of the mattress, turning sideways so that you could rest your palm upon Jacob’s chest. His heartbeat was steady, at least. For a while you simply counted the thumps of it beneath your hand, occasionally moving your touch up to his face to caress his scruffy cheek. When Evie had departed you did not hesitate to remove your sodden coat and boots before moving further onto the bed, curling up beside your husband and pressing a lingering kiss to his upper right arm. You leaned your forehead to the curve of his shoulder and closed your eyes, absently curling and splaying your fingers upon his chest. Jacob had always liked the feeling of that even though he teased and asked why you kneaded him like a cat. You hoped he’d get some comfort from it now, somehow.

  


When Doctor Lehman arrived he had his usual wire spectacles atop his broad nose and his black, leather bag in his grasp. He seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation and did not dally with questions about what had happened to Jacob. He simply went about scrubbing his hands clean with hot water and soap until his skin looked red and raw. His scalpels and other instruments were sterilized with a combination of fire and pure alcohol from a glass bottle procured from his bag before he set them out on a clean tray on the bedside table. When he removed the poultice that Evie had applied to her brother’s chest, you saw the pale yellow exudate of the infection and had to look away as your stomach roiled. The edge of the wound looked angry and inflamed and tender. Still, the doctor seemed pleased with the work Evie had done with a simple homemade remedy, saying that she’d made his job that much easier by not letting it continue to fester. He then went about cleaning the area with more alcohol, gingerly squeezing out the little bit of remaining pus and wiping it away each time with a fresh cloth soaked in boiling water. Cleaning and wiping and more cleaning. It seemed to go on forever until at last no more thick pus oozed up from the wound.

“There’s some minor tissue death here and here. Nothing I can’t take care of,” the doctor said, more to himself than anyone else. He made a curious noise and then glanced up to Evie. “But not as much as there should be, given that this wound is clearly not fresh. Has anyone else cleaned this before I?”

Evie’s brows furrowed and she shook her head, looking at you with a dark expression.

“Not in the manner you are. I think...perhaps he tried to clean it himself. Or his captor did.”

You didn’t know what to say and so you simply turned to look towards the window where the frigid rain was still coming down in a torrent. Jack would have been cruel enough to cause such damage and then try to keep it clean. Try to keep Jacob alive so that he could toy with him some more. However, the idea of Jacob trying futilely to keep himself from succumbing to infection hurt you even more.

After cutting away small bits of dead tissue and carefully opening the gash to make sure that it was free of infection and any other foreign material, Doctor Lehman scrubbed his hands clean once again. He then soaked a square of cotton cloth with alcohol and dabbed it along the edges of the wound. Jacob did squirm at that, eyelids flickering and a low, groaning noise of discomfort issuing from his throat as his head rolled on his pillow. You imagined his pain; alcohol on a small cut hurt like hell. On something like this...your heart ached for Jacob, but you stood back and let the doctor keep working.

Only when he was satisfied that the wound was as clean as he could get it did the doctor take out his suturing kit and sterilize the mean looking curved needles and forceps. When he began stitching the two sides of the wound together, Jacob made another fitful noise and his legs shifted restlessly under the bed linens. Lehman paused, waiting to see if Jacob would wake with a start and lash out at him, but when the other man settled down again he went on with his task. His suture pattern looked neat and sturdy, deep set into the wound, and you hoped it would hold and allow Jacob’s flesh to heal.

Evie had busied herself with disposing of the pus and alcohol soaked rags and pouring more hot water into a fresh basin for the doctor, and so you were the first to notice when Jacob’s eyes opened. His gaze was glassy and far away but his pupils were still blown wide in pain. Even worse, the vessels in the outer corner of his left eye had burst, likely from being struck repeatedly. The sight made your stomach turn unpleasantly. Jacob looked downward briefly at the doctor and towards the door where Evie was stood, expression vacant.

“Jacob?” You called out tentatively, stepping forward to rest a hand on his cheek. His eyes moved to your face but you were skeptical that he was comprehending anything he was seeing. He said nothing and simply looked up at you for a moment before his eyes slowly drifted shut as he heaved a faint sigh. You stroked your thumb against the corner of his eye, swallowing down a sudden rush of panic and glancing down to his chest. Doctor Lehman was nearly done with his work, brows furrowed in concentration as he fed the catgut thread through the bottom of the wound.

Once he had finished and scrubbed his hands vigorously for a third time, Lehman retrieved a sealed metal tin of pre-made surgical dressings. He had you help him lift Jacob enough to wrap the dressing around his back and over his shoulder several times to cover the wound. He then dug out a slender, glass thermometer from his bag and gently slipped it into Jacob’s mouth and under his tongue. After a short wait he removed it and peered at the device.

“His temperature is a few degrees higher than what’s healthy. Surprising, considering the depth of his wound. I’d anticipated worse. It should break within a day or two, now that the area is clean. Be sure that he drinks water every chance he gets until it does. Feed him some mashed vegetables and stewed meats as well. He looks a bit thin,” the doctor said as he tucked the thermometer back into its little wooden tube. He reached over and pressed two fingers to Jacob’s neck, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he counted beats of his patient’s pulse. “His heart is not racing and his breathing does not seem labored.”

Lehman paused and moved his hand down to Jacob’s ribs, where a mottled yellow-green-purple bruise had bloomed on his skin. You knew the shape of a boot heel when you saw one, even on human flesh. If the doctor also recognized the shape, he said nothing about it. He lightly prodded at the area, humming as he did so.

“Possible fracture in the ribs here. It’s hard to tell but it’s clearly not broken all the way. Keep him off of this side while he sleeps, just to be safe. I’ll need to examine him more thoroughly when he’s awake and lucid enough to answer questions,” the doctor said, turning and moving back to his medical bag. “He’ll likely be in a fair amount of pain when he does come around, judging by these bruises. I’ll leave some laudanum behind but I caution you to use it very sparingly. Only ten to fifteen drops a day. Too much will kill him. I can’t tell you how many patients I’ve lost this year alone to overdoses of this wretched stuff and I’d rather not have Mister Frye be one of them.”

Laudanum. It was barely an improvement over the Soothing Syrup pawned off on London by Crawford Starrick. Doctor Lehman’s distaste for it was well founded. You hated it, too. You’d seen people from all walks of life in London fall prey to it, from upper class ladies who sought to maintain their frail appearance by lying about in a drugged stupor to the poor, exhausted worker drinking it like it was nothing but a stout pint at the end of a long day. Both of them would inevitably end up in the same place, dying in a bed while their lungs failed them. Your own grandmother and her husband had used it quite often as a headache remedy and sleep aid and, though they’d never have admitted it, they’d needed it to simply function in daily life by the time they passed away. You’d never used it, never permitted your children to use it, and the idea of administering it to Jacob was altogether appalling. But if he was in great pain and needed relief...you could do it. For a short time, at least.

“I’ll return tomorrow between noon and one o’clock to help change the dressing and take his temperature,” the man said as he began gathering up his tools and dropping them into a glass jar half full of what smelled like more alcohol. He sealed it up and tucked it away into his bag before coming to offer you his hand. Once you’d taken it, he clasped his other hand over your entwined ones, his expression softening a little. “Try not to fret, madame. He could be in far worse shape. I’m optimistic about his recovery and you know I don’t bother to spare feelings when I work with you lot.”

“I know. Thank you, Doctor Lehman. I’m sure he’ll recover under your care,” you said, trying to put as much gratitude as you could muster into your tired voice. You didn’t know what time it was. Certainly closer to dawn than midnight. “I will have some coin ready for you tomorrow when you return. It’s the least I can do for keeping you here so late.”

Lehman smiled and nodded in thanks, tipping his hat in farewell to Evie before gathering his bag and coat and taking his leave. He’d hardly been gone for a minute before you slumped down onto your knees beside the bed, an arm thrown across Jacob’s stomach as your forehead came to rest on the bed linens. A dry sob worked its way out of your throat and you could feel more building in your chest as your fingers curled, grasping at your husband. Evie was there at once, her hand stroking over your hair as she murmured your name.

“I don’t know why I’m even bloody crying,” you managed to get out, voice muffled by the linens. Jacob was alive and the doctor seemed confident that he would recover. There was no pressing, immediate danger and yet the tears just kept coming, your chest heaving and shuddering as you wept.

“You’re exhausted,” Evie said patiently, kneeling down beside you and slipping her arm around your waist. She hauled you back to your feet and gently eased you away from the bed. “It’s nearly four in the morning. We need to rest. There are some matters that we must see to tomorrow and you’ll be of no help if you keep going without sleep.”

“I don’t want to leave him alone,” you protested weakly, turning your head back to look at Jacob. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t moved, eyes still shut as he slept. “What if he needs something—”

“A guard can stand in with him for tonight,” Evie said as she reached for the door handle and turned it, ushering you from the room. “We’ll be just down the hall. You’ll be near him if he wakes and needs you. All right?”

You knew that Evie wasn’t going to relent so you nodded, cowed, and let her lead you off to the nearby guest room. Whilst you undressed she retrieved a nightgown for you from the armoire in your bedroom and brought you a hot, damp cloth to wash your face with. Once she had changed into her own nightclothes and turned back the linens on the bed, the pair of you settled in. You were glad that she was staying with you rather than sleep elsewhere and told her as much as she leaned over to turn the little wheel on the oil lamp, snuffing it out.

“You are my family and my Sister. You’re my brother’s wife and you’ve taken more care of him than anyone else ever has. I love you, even if we haven’t seen each other for many years,” Evie said softly through the darkness of the bedroom. She reached out, finding your hand and squeezing gently. “Rest, now.”

  


You weren’t sure why you were surprised when, the following afternoon while you sat at Jacob’s bedside and watched him sleep after you’d coaxed him to eat a few bites of stewed carrots and beef, Evie sat down beside you with a grave expression and muttered: “We need to take care of Jack’s body. Tonight. Abberline helped me smuggle it out of Lambeth under the guise of a slain employee and we hid it in the basement of an Assassin safehouse, but...I think it’s best that we dispose of it. In case the inspector changes his mind about helping us hide Jack’s identity to appease the press and public.”

You frowned deeply and glanced sideways at her. Anger simmered within you, not at Evie but at the mention of Jack. You hadn’t thought of him once since you’d woken that day, focused on letting Doctor Lehman back in and learning how to change the dressings yourself and feeding Jacob and making sure he didn’t roll onto his bruised side. You wanted to focus on this. This moment here with Jacob, watching him sleep and listening to his breath. Jack could rot in that basement for all you cared. Still...it was your responsibility to see this mess through to the end.

“We can take his corpse to the foundry in Southwark that Jacob controls. The Rooks that operate it will help us load him into the furnace.”

“All right,” Evie said with a satisfied nod. As you looked at her, her expression slowly took on a very tired, sad edge and she cleared her throat. “I wanted to tell you last night but it seemed like poor timing...Jack killed one more Assassin before I could stop him. A young lady. I believe her name was Mary Jane Kelly, according to the owner of the building where she was renting her room. I’m so sorry.”

At first you only felt tired resignation that you’d lost one more. That Jack had taken and taken from the Brotherhood right to the end. However, when Evie mentioned the name, you turned about fully to face her, brows furrowed.

“Mary Jane Kelly? A blonde girl of stout figure? She had blue eyes.”

Evie hesitated, mouth opening but no words issuing forth immediately, and her already fair complexion paled further.

“Her hair was blonde but I...I couldn’t see her features,” Evie’s voice cracked, and you were alarmed to see tears welling in her eyes. She brought a hand up rest over her trembling lips. When you reached for her she welcomed it, leaning into your embrace and resting her forehead against your shoulder as she spoke, voice wet and tremulous. “He tore her apart. He ripped her to pieces like a rabid dog. Not just her insides...her face, her skin, her breasts. _Everything_...I saw what he did to her and I’m...I’m ashamed that he was under my guidance in his youth. I’m ashamed that I didn’t stop him in time and that he made me lose control over myself. Over my emotions. I thought I knew what he was capable of but I was so wrong. The police said he’d taken her heart. Her heart. Why would he do this? We didn’t teach him this.”

_I didn’t teach him this._

_We didn’t teach him this._

How similar the words were despite being uttered by each twin some months apart. You hushed Evie softly and rested a hand upon the back of her neck, thumbing over her skin and closing your eyes. Her sobs were quiet but she shook hard in your embrace.

You couldn’t erase the things she had seen during her pursuit of Jack. The things he had undoubtedly put her through, forced her to do. Whatever terrible sight Mary Jane Kelly’s corpse had been, it was enough to shake Evie Frye to her core and there was nothing to be done about it. All you could do was rub her back and kiss her hair and let her weep.

That night, after Jacob had been fed his dinner and his dressings were changed again, you and Evie snuck from the house and stole the first carriage you came across. She had been out of sorts since that morning, quiet and stormy in expression when she wasn’t being distracted with conversation. You decided to leave her be. After all, the task for the evening was hardly pleasant.

Your first stop was the safehouse on the edge of Lambeth. Several Initiates were holed up there, and when they saw you step through the door after Evie, their expressions went from shock to relief to incredible sorrow. Some of them looked so guilty, as if they had somehow failed you by not being able to find Jacob and defeat Jack themselves. Never mind the fact they were only Novices, if that. You simply nodded reassuringly and followed Evie through the small house and down into the musty basement.

It was pitch dark, at least until Evie struck a match and used it to ignite an oil lamp hanging from a bent nail jutting out of one of the support beams for the floor overhead. As soon as she did, you found yourself only an arm’s length away from an old, wooden table. On that table, laid out like a cadaver in a dissection theater full of medical students, was Jack. Not The Ripper. Not anymore. The face you saw without the mask, the pronounced nose, the pale eyes gazing lifelessly upward and slicked back, tawny blond hair belonged to Jack the Lad. His skin was grey in color and his massive chest, riddled with deep stab wounds and caked in blood, was still.

“What of his personal effects? The mask he wore?”

Evie kicked at a burlap sack on the floor beside the bottom of the staircase in response. She then came to stand beside you, looking down at Jack with a perturbed expression. You reached out just enough to take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“Before he died, he...he said that we were the same. Him and I.”

“Evie—”

“I’ll not lie and say that I didn’t desire his death,” Evie went on in a stricken, rushed voice. Her brows furrowed darkly as she looked down upon the body. “It felt good to kill him. I’d never felt it before. Not like that. I wasn’t satisfied like I was when we killed Crawford Starrick. I was happy. Only for a moment, but…”

“He was lying. He was mad and wanted all who opposed him to suffer. You’ve never been anything like him. You never will be.”

The sharp, firm tone of your voice seemed to coax Evie out of her brooding reverie.

“It matters little, now. He’s gone,” she muttered at last, shaking her head and closing her eyes briefly with a sigh. When she opened her eyes she seemed more resolved, steeled against the sight of the dead man before her. “Come on. It’s going to be a job getting him back up the stairs. I thought Abberline was going to suffer a hernia helping me get him down here.”

With a bit of help from the Initiates, the body was wrapped into a cotton sheet and loaded into the carriage. The sack containing Jack’s clothes was tossed onto his chest before the doors were closed. Evie was also sure to shut the curtains over the carriage windows to be safe, and then the two of you set off to the foundry beside the Thames. You had sent a message with a paid off urchin earlier in the day to let them know that you needed the furnace open and ready that night, so it pleased you to see that a crew of Rooks was waiting in the foundry yard for you.

It wasn’t the first body they had helped you get rid of in a pinch. All the same, you were glad Jack was wrapped up, identity hidden. You knew some of them would recognize Jack without his mask on, having been around him since his youth, and the last thing you needed was one of them to start blabbing after one too many pints at the pub about how they’d helped burn Jack the Ripper’s body. You and Evie stood back, watching closely as two of the bigger men in the group wrestled the corpse out of the carriage and lugged it into the foundry like a massive sack of potatoes. Another grabbed Jack’s belongings and followed.

They’d prepared the biggest furnace in the building. When one of the workers opened up the door, unbearable heat washed over you and forced you back several steps. The angry, fiery glow of the inferno inside shone so brightly in the dark building that you could only see the black silhouette of Jack’s body as a team of men lifted him like a plank of wood. They heaved him to and fro to gain some momentum and then, on the count of three, flung him into the furnace with a shower of embers and a whoosh of disturbed flames. A puff of ash and sparks issued forth when the sack of clothing joined its owner a moment later.

When a man picked up a pair of iron tongs, moving to grab the handle for the furnace door to push it shut and latch it, you reached to stay him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t,” you said sharply, motioning for him to stop. “We’ll close it when we leave. Thank you.”

Evie cast you a sideways look but said nothing as the Rooks had wandered away to give the pair of you privacy. She followed your lead as you hopped up to sit on a crate, and the two of you gazed into the furnace. Smoke was already rolling off of what part of Jack’s body you could see, the sheet around him black and disintegrating.

“I thought you’d want to return home as soon as it was done,” Evie finally muttered to you without looking away from the fire. You made a faint humming noise and shook your head.

“It’s not done. Jack stole five of our Sisters. Our Brotherhood...everything that Jacob and I worked so hard to build is in ruin. He nearly killed my husband. My dearest friend. The father of my children,” you replied quietly, voice even and cold. “I want to watch him burn. I want to revel in the fact that he bled and died just like the women that he murdered.”

You felt a gentle hand settle between your shoulder blades and Evie nodded in understanding.

“We can stay, then. To make sure it’s finished,” she said softly, giving the nape of your neck a reassuring squeeze. “For our Sisters...and for Jacob.”

“For Jacob,” you echoed, voice hollow and distant as you watched the flames curl around Jack’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this story (and have enjoyed my other AC fics), please consider making a small ($3) donation via ko-fi: [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A3561HR). I don't make any large sum of money off of writing fanfic and I certainly don't ever plan to, but any monetary support that I can get is greatly appreciated.
> 
> On another note, the next chapter of this story may be slightly delayed due to some other real life stuff, but I promise it won't be too long of a wait. Thank you all so much for your support and patience.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is, clearly, far overdue and I didn’t want to waste any more time by dividing it into two or three more parts so here we are. A massive finale to the story. It was a struggle to write, in all honesty. I lost my motivation, inspiration, and guidance. I made mistakes and I wanted to give up on the story because of it but I’m glad that I didn’t. Please forgive me for my disappearing act. I feel like I've let down so many lovely people and I hope that this makes up for it, even a little.
> 
> And as far as future stories go, I have other ideas in the works and am open to suggestions via tumblr. I cannot wait to see what I can do with Bayek and AC Origins later this year.
> 
> Thank you.

When you woke on your fourth morning back in London, you simply laid still for a moment and gazed up at the ceiling. The bedroom was quiet save for the faint rhythm of Jacob’s breath as he slept. After two nights apart from him with Evie, you’d given in and taken to sleeping on the lounge near the hearth in the master bedroom. It had helped ease your restlessness, if only marginally. Sitting upright and looking towards the bed confirmed that Jacob was still slumbering, his head lolled to the side on his pillow and lips slightly parted. You stood quietly and stretched with a soft sigh, fingers rifling through your locks as you strode to the powdering table to grab your silver handled hairbrush. The window beside you beckoned your attention and you absently gazed down onto the street as you ran the boar bristles through your hair, gently untangling knots.

Your mind was already awhirl with things you needed to do. There were so many people that you needed to meet with. The other figureheads of the Brotherhood, Frederick Abberline, and likely the Queen herself, if only to assure her the remaining problems in Whitechapel would be swiftly and quietly dealt with. A plan of attack needed to be made on that front as well so that you could regain control over the borough. First, though...first you would have to see how many of your Brothers and Sisters remained in London. You had no way of knowing who had stayed and who had left in the chaos of Jack’s madness. Perhaps correspondences and telegrams needed to be sent to other Brotherhoods in neighboring countries to inquire if they had taken in any fled members. Not to seek them out and demand they return to be punished for desertion, of course. You only wanted to be sure they were alive and safe.

 _Assassins dead and Initiates scattered like leaves on the wind. Our life’s work reduced to this!_ Your thoughts boiled angrily as you stared out into the quiet of the morning, tension settling in your shoulders and spine. Your head would ache by noon, you had no doubt. _Devil take you, Jack the Lad. I only wish I’d brought you to your knees myself—_

“Will you not say good morning to me?”

A low, hoarse voice piercing the silence of the room gave you such a start that your grip on your brush faltered and the brush dropped. It clattered onto the dressing table before skittering over the edge and landing upon the floor. You spun about, heart in your throat as you prepared yourself to face whatever intruder had caught you unaware. The bedroom was free of strangers, though, and you frowned in confusion until your gaze settled upon the figure still resting upon the bed.

Jacob’s head had turned a bit on his pillow and you could see two very thin slits of vibrant hazel peering at you from beneath the dark fan of his lashes. He was looking at you, you realized; looking and comprehending. The haziness that had afflicted him had seemingly gone at last. You tried to speak but failed, a shaky breath coming out as you took hesitant steps towards the bed. Jacob’s eyes opened a tad more as you approached and his hand that laid atop the sheet flexed as if he wanted to reach out to you.

“You’re home,” Jacob muttered. He sounded so tired and _fragile_ but so, so happy to see you. The heat of tears in your eyes sprang upon you before you could think to stop it. You hurried to sit beside him on the bed, taking his hand into yours and pressing soft kisses to his fight worn fingers and calloused knuckles.

“Of course” you managed to get out in a thick, wavering voice as you nodded. “I had to come back. London needs me to keep an eye on you.”

Jacob made a huffing sound like he wanted to laugh but then he stiffened and jerked as a harsh cough tore from his throat. You released his hand to grab the glass of water waiting for him upon the bedside table. He tried to take it from you but you didn’t quite trust his grasp, especially not while he was coughing, so you tutted and guided the edge of the glass to his lips yourself.

“Take small sips, love. We can’t have you choking,” you said softly as he did as you told and sipped gingerly at the water. You stroked his greasy hair back from his forehead while he drank one, then two glasses before he settled back into the pillows with a satisfied hum. After only a moment of quiet contentment his brows suddenly furrowed and he looked at you with alarm.

“Where are the children? Are they in Crawley? _Are they safe_?”

You smiled and hushed him gently, smoothing your thumb over his cheek and kissing the fretful furrow of his brow until it eased.

“They’re both here. Probably still asleep, actually. I’ve been so worried about you that they’ve been on their own for a few days. Thankfully they’re relatively well trained by now.”

A flicker of amusement appeared on Jacob’s face but then he frowned and with some effort sat up straighter and licked his lips.

“A few days?”

“Yes. You’ve been in and out since Evie found you on the...on your birthday, of all days. Imagine that. I came home in the middle of the night on a train to be with you while Doctor Lehman patched you up. You woke once while he was suturing your wound and looked at me. Only for a moment, though.”

Jacob’s brows furrowed again and he sank back down onto the bed.

“I don’t remember any of that,” he said slowly, fingers idly plucking at the bed linens. “I...I remember Evie’s face in the dark. In the cell. She spoke to me, I believe, but I don’t know what she said.”

His expression was stormy and understandably so. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like, having entire sections of your memory missing. You gave a gentle, soothing hum and took one of his hands into yours, thumbing over the familiar scars there.

“It’s all right. You’ve been through a lot. It might take some time for it all to come back to you.”

A flicker of some dark emotion raced across Jacob’s face but before you could try to steer the conversation back towards something happier, the door to the bedroom swung open. Evie was there, nodding her thanks to the guard who had opened the door for her as her hands were occupied with a serving tray containing a pot of tea, some cups, a bowl of sugar and a small pitcher of milk. When she turned to look towards the bed as she stepped into the room, her eyes went wide as she spotted Jacob sitting upright and alert. It appeared that she was at a loss for words and so, in typical fashion, Jacob filled the silence with his own wit.

“I’m terribly sorry for not being here to greet you properly when you arrived, dear sister. I was a bit preoccupied,” Jacob said with a hesitant smile, and he held out his right arm in search of a hug. “Can you, for what will likely not be the last time, forgive me?”

“ _Jacob_ ,” Evie finally breathed out, and then she hurried to set the tray aside on the dressing table with a messy clatter before coming around to the side of the bed where her brother sat. You moved aside readily to let her by and a moment later she had her arms around his shoulders, cradling his head to her chest and bending to press her face into his hair.

“God damn you! God damn you,” she said in a tremulous voice, clutching him tighter as he brought his arm up to wrap around her back. “Haven’t I told you countless times not to go and get yourself killed? Why don’t you ever  _listen to me_?”

Jacob made a faint noise, muffled by her waistcoat, and rubbed her back a little.

“Oi, I’m still here, aren’t I? I’ll live to hear another lecture from you.”

That pulled a strained, wet laugh from Evie. She straightened upright and took his face into her hands, gently touching the swollen flesh around his left eye and sighing. Her cheeks were wet with tears but her expression was at ease, relief shooing away the tension that had weighed her down for days. To his credit, Jacob did not tease any further. He simply brought a hand up to swipe the tears from his sister’s cheeks and offer a kind smile.

“Are you hungry?” She finally asked after a quiet moment of just studying her brother’s face. Jacob did perk up a little at the mention of food and nodded eagerly. Evie smiled warmly, the first true smile you had seen from her since you’d set eyes upon her, and dropped her hands from his face to go over to the tea tray. “What do you want?”

Jacob hummed and hawed as he watched her prepare a cup of tea — milk and two lumps of sugar, as he preferred it — and smiled gratefully when she returned and handed him the beverage. After a few gingerly sips, Jacob set the cup aside and cleared his throat.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask for a platter of larded oysters?”

Evie smiled again and sighed, shaking her head in fond exasperation. She then leaned down and rifled her fingers through Jacob’s hair and kissed the top of his head.

“Oysters for breakfast,” Evie teased, pausing to allow Jacob to pull her in for one more single armed hug. She looked surprised but it faded as quickly as it had come and she rubbed her hand against his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do about an omelette and some sausages.”

When the bedroom door had shut with a faint click behind Evie as she left, you leaned down and kissed Jacob. His lips felt terribly dry against yours but kissing him was still so, so nice. Like applying balm to a burn and feeling the sting of it immediately soothe and disappear. Jacob seemed to feel much the same; eyes were closed again when you pulled away, his expression relaxed.

“We’ll have a fine dinner when you’re able to get out of bed. It’ll be a late birthday present from the children and I.”

“Birthday...god in heaven,” Jacob muttered with a faint wrinkle of his nose. “I’m forty one, now, aren’t I?”

You laughed at the utter dismay in his voice, but the amusement was short lived as relief flooded in to take its place. He was forty one, now. You would be able to celebrate another year of his life rather than inscribing his fortieth and final year on a headstone. The realization felt wonderful but it still hit you like a fist to the gut, and you had to look downward as you laced your fingers with his so that he wouldn’t see the emotion in your eyes.

Still, tired and hurt as he was, Jacob squeezed your hand and murmured your name, knowing and reassuring in one breath. He said nothing else and neither did you, the two of you content to sit quietly with fingers entwined until Evie returned. 

The children finally peeked into the room just as Jacob was polishing off a bit of brown rye toast. Their expressions when they saw that he was awake and talking were priceless, grogginess giving way to elated excitement. Still in their pajamas and stockings, they rushed into the room with loud cries of _Father!_ and hopped up onto the bed, wiggling to their father like excited pups. If Jacob had seemed happy to see you, he was overjoyed to see his son and daughter. He reached for them with his good arm and held them close, Emmett wrapping one of his gangly arms around Jacob’s shoulders while the other went around Alma’s back. Jacob leaned into them for a long while, occasionally lifting his head to kiss their cheeks and look at them with a raw, tremulous expression. Much to your relief, neither child pestered Jacob with questions about what had happened to him or where Jack was. They simply hugged him and kissed his scruffy face and talked about Crawley and what they’d seen and experienced there, as well as voicing their agreeing displeasure with him that the Council there was truly dreadful. That earned a genuine grin from Jacob, though he did try to hide his pleasure behind a fatherly _I do hope the two of you behaved yourselves_.

It didn’t take long for Jacob to grow drowsy once more, his eyelids heavy and head settling back down into his pillows. You had wanted to change his bandages while he was still awake rather than jostling him about later on when he was resting. Thankfully, Emmett and Alma obeyed without protest when you instructed that they to go dress for the day and ask Evie to help make some breakfast for themselves while you tended to Jacob’s injuries. They each gave their father one more round of hugs and kisses before quietly exiting the room. He watched them leave, expression fond, and once they were gone he sighed and closed his eyes.

“Let me change your bandages, darling. Then you can rest without being disturbed,” you said softly as you stood from your seat beside the bed and went to your powder table where you’d left the tins of sterile dressings, taking one back to the nightstand and then going to the hearth to take out the kettle and pour a basin of hot water to wash your hands in.

Jacob watched you quietly, a hint of curiosity in his gaze as you scrubbed your hands vigorously with soap and rinsed them clean. It was only when you sat down and leaned in to begin unwinding his current bandages that he made a soft noise of protest and brought a hand up to stay yours.

“Fetch your hand mirror. The pretty one with the porcelain back. I want to see the damage he’s done.”

 _Are you sure?_ was poised upon your tongue but you thought better of it and simply stood with a nod. Jacob could still make his own decisions and it was only natural he’d want to know how badly he’d been injured. One the mirror was in your grasp, heavy silver and smooth porcelain decorated with violets, you returned to his side and gingerly handed it over. He held it out, not quite at arm’s length, so that he could comfortably watch your fingers as they plucked open the bandages. When you nudged him to sit forward so that you could pull the loosened trappings from around his torso he obliged, and then he settled back and found himself gazing upon the line of sutures woven into his flesh.

At the sight of his raw, ruined skin Jacob’s brows furrowed and something akin to disgust rippled across his face. You didn’t know what to say and so you remained silent as you retrieved the washing cloth from the basin of clean water and smoothed it over his chest and neck and shoulder. Jacob made a low noise of discomfort as your ministrations eased closer to the wound and you hummed, soothing and apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I know it must hurt terribly,” you said softly as you wet the cloth again and swept it up behind his ears and around the back of his neck. “Doctor Lehman left some laudanum behind, if you—”

“No,” Jacob said firmly and with a shake of his head. His gaze was still fixed upon the small mirror and it remained there until you finished with the impromptu bath and set the cloth and water aside. He spoke again as you turned in your seat to grab another small towel from the nightstand, bringing it back to pat his skin dry. “I’d rather have a few fingers of whiskey, if you’d be so kind.”

“Jacob...”

“Only a few. It will hardly hurt,” Jacob pleaded softly.

“I’ll give you two. No more,” you said in dry amusement as you took up the tin of dressings and pried open the seal.

A soft, mildly petulant huff was his response as he let you wrap the fresh bandages around his back and over his wound. Still, a grateful smile took over his features when you leaned down to peck his lips.

You had been serious with your offer of a drink and once finished with the task at hand, you left to his study to retrieve the bottle from the liquor cabinet and pour a small amount into a glass. However, by the time you returned to Jacob he was slumped down into his pillows and breathing slow and deep in slumber. Your mirror had dropped to the blankets over his lap, his hand limp atop it. A slow, tender smile crept onto your lips as you went to him and set the glass down on the bedside table. He hardly stirred when you nudged his hand aside to retrieve your mirror. Once it was put safely away, you took Jacob’s empty tea cup from breakfast and filled it with cool water from the pitcher and set it beside the whiskey. He would get the message, you knew, whenever he woke up again.

“I love you,” you whispered, bending to press a kiss to his cheek as you drew his blankets up higher to protect him from growing cold.

 

Given the state that Jacob’s body was in, you had anticipated that he would spend the first week or two of his recovery primarily in bed, or perhaps sitting by the hearth in your quarters if he felt particularly mobile. When only two days had gone by since his awakening, however, you heard a soft rapping of knuckles upon the door of your study and called for whoever it was to enter. It wasn’t an Initiate or maid, nor the children or Evie. Instead, you saw Jacob shuffle in around the opened door, his gait hitched and face pinched with pained as he approached your desk. When he came within reach he braced a hand upon the edge of it, leaning his hip into the wood to take some of his weight off of his aching legs. He looked at you, seemingly gauging your reaction to his presence, and then down to the papers scattered before you and the ink pen in your hand.

“Answering letters?”

“Yes. They arrived in our absence. I’d like to inform our allies abroad that we’re not dead, after all,” you replied dryly, and after a beat added in a sigh as you looked back down and resumed your writing: “You should be resting, Jacob. You’ll not do yourself any favors by roaming about.”

“I don’t want to lie down—”

“Your body is clearly saying otherwise. Look at you. You’re in pain.”

“I don’t _want_ to lie down,” Jacob repeated, more forceful and sharp. He looked immediately apologetic for his tone when your head jerked up in surprise, however, his gaze lowering to where his fingers were curled upon the polished wood of the desk. If it had been any other time, you would have scolded him for being prickly. Instead, you slotted your pen into its silver cradle and capped the ink bottle beside it before you pushed your chair back and got to your feet.

“All right,” you replied simply, voice soft and soothing. You brought a hand to rest upon his cheek while the other settled into the crook of his elbow and then smoothed down, down until your fingers laced with his upon the desk. It took a moment of coaxing, thumb stroking over the angular plane of his cheek, before he looked back up at you. The ruptured vessels in his eye had healed a bit, but it was still a garish sight. You pushed the uneasy thrill that went up your spine aside and touched the corner of his lips.

“What do you need, darling?”

Jacob was silent, hesitating as he gazed at you, but then he seemed to find himself again and licked his lips.

“A proper bath. I feel filthy."

The seriousness of his tone giving such a simple request made you smile, huff a soft laugh, and lean up to peck him upon the lips.

“I’ll tell the servants to start heating water, then. Go find your soap and straight razor while you’re waiting, hmm? I’ll give you a nice shave while they’re preparing the bath.”

Jacob considered the offer for a brief moment as he lifted his free hand to his face. His fingers stroked along the bristly hair that had sprouted thickly on his jawline and chin as he gave a faint snort.

"I suppose I could do without looking like I've been marooned for half a bloody year."

That made you laugh aloud as you met his gaze with your own. He seemed more at ease than he’d been only minutes before and it lightened your own heart in return. Your hands came up to cradle his face, studying him with teasing scrutiny as you tilted his head this way and that.

"I don't know. You've certainly got a rugged charm about you with all these whiskers. Like a dashing, weathered sea captain."

"Selling me a dog," Jacob accused in a low, warm murmur as he reached for you and caught you about the waist. His neck craned downward as he sought a kiss which you readily gave, and indeed it was another few minutes before he relinquished his hold so that you could go find the servants.

 

It was far from the first time you'd ever helped Jacob shave and yet you couldn't shake the nervousness that had taken root in your stomach. Try as you might to think otherwise, it was different, now. Everything was. Thankfully he seemed unaware to your inner distress, relaxed in his seat with his head tilted back to rest on the cushioned support and waiting patiently while you whipped the shaving soap into a hot, thick lather. With his head tipped back as it was, you could see the shadows of mottled bruises along the column of his throat, left by Jack’s hand.

Once the boar hair bristles of the soap brush were thoroughly saturated, you carried the bowl of lather along with it over to where your husband sat. The first sweep of the brush up along his cheekbone drew such a pure noise of appreciation from Jacob that you couldn’t help but chuckle. He cracked an eye open to peer at you, unapologetic and cheeky as you continued to work the lather around his face.

“A man could grow accustomed to this, you know. Having a pretty lady clean him up.”

“Oh, Mister Frye. Charming as ever,” you sighed dreamily in faux admiration.

A soft laugh sounded within his throat and then Jacob went quiet once more, eye closing as he basked in your ministrations. In short order you had his skin coated from throat to jaw to just below his ears. Though you’d worked absently up until then, as you reached for the straight razor sitting upon the nearby table and took it in hand, an inkling of uncertainty prickled along the back of your neck. Jacob seemed unphased by the idea of having a blade near his face, his neck, so why should you be worried? He trusted you implicitly, after all. You had no ill will or dark intentions, and when nothing happened at the first careful drag of the blade along his cheek — no fearful sounds or Jacob shrinking away from the touch of the razor to his skin — you gathered yourself with a relieved sigh and settled into the task at hand.

The servants were still boiling water and filling the tub, splashing and muted conversation punctuating the quiet of the room through the wall as they worked. As you cleaned the last strip of lather from the side of Jacob’s throat and swirled the blade clean in the basin of water sitting beside the chair, you took in the transformation of your husband’s face. He looked much more clean and kept, and yet the gauntness of his cheeks had become even more pronounced without his burgeoning beard to conceal it. Still, he seemed pleased as you wiped his skin with a warm, damp towel and pressed a tender kiss to his now smooth jawline.

“A little less beastly, now,” you teased into his cheek, pecking him once more before straightening upright and setting the towel aside.

Jacob huffed a laugh as he moved to the edge of his seat, where his amusement quickly faded as he seemed to be gathering his strength to get to his feet, brow furrowed a little as he began to push himself up. You tutted at him once, reaching for him and sliding an arm around his lower back to allow him to lean some of his weight into you. He looked embarrassed and displeased that he’d not been able to do it alone, but you made no comment upon it and simply ushered him towards the door with a soothing murmur of _Let’s get you into the bath_.

If Jacob had enjoyed the feeling of his first shave in weeks, the sound that he let out as you helped him slowly, carefully lower himself down to sit in the bath was utterly delighted. You could imagine how it felt to be warmed to the bone after spending so many days in a cold, dank cell with not a comfort in the world.

“Devil take me, that’s marvelous” Jacob sighed to himself as he slumped back against the sloped porcelain of the tub. He smiled at your soft laughter, turning his head to watch you as you grabbed a fresh cloth from the wooden rack beside the hearth and brought it over.

You wanted to help him wash, particularly his back and the tender area around his wound and ribs, but after only a moment you were forced to pause and sit back in order to remove your waistcoat and loosen the top buttons of your undershirt, the heat radiating from the water causing sweat to bead on your brow. Once your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows you resumed, wetting the cloth in between strokes along the back of Jacob’s neck, shoulders, and down the valley of his spine after he’d leaned forward at your request. He took the cloth after that, absently scrubbing at his belly and chest and nether regions and when he was finished he sighed heavily and wrung the rag out before draping it over the edge of the tub.

Jacob reclined once more after his scrubbing, eyes closed as he basked in the warmth of the water like a great cat in the sun. It was beyond endearing, leaving you helpless but to obey the urge to play your fingertips along his shoulder, his neck, along the shell of his ear. It took a beat for Jacob to turn his head and open his eyes to peer at you, though he gave you a small smile when he did. His attention seemed torn, eyes roaming over your face and drinking in the details of your features. It was nearly enough to make you blush like a silly girl. However, the giddiness faded when Jacob’s gaze drifted lower, halting at the hollow of your throat between the gaping collar edges of your shirt.

"Oh, dove...you've still got my necklace on," he said softly as he reached out, his wet fingers brushing your breastbone as they lightly grasped the worn shilling.

"I haven't taken it off once since you gave it to me," you replied, quiet and earnest. "It helped to have a part of you with me while I was away."

When his attention remained focused on the coin hanging from your neck, you brought a hand up to rest on the curve of his forearm. His gaze finally lifted to meet yours, searching and open and more than a little hurt as he studied your face again. It took only a beat for his eyes to become glassy and wet, and his breath stuttered a little as you murmured his name and leaned in to kiss his lips. Your hand slid up his forearm and over the bone of his wrist until your fingers found his and slotted in between them, gently pinning his hand to your chest. With the other you reached for him, cradling the square of his jaw as he broke the kiss with a tremulous sound.

"I was so afraid," Jacob confessed in a rush as his voice cracked.

"I know, darling," you whispered at once, thumb stroking over the tense muscle in his jaw. You saw his throat work hard, once, twice as he swallowed down his unhappy noises. His brows furrowed in distress and irritation, eyes blinking quickly in a futile effort to shoo away his tears. He was trying to hold it all back — his fear and pain — for your sake and likely out of deep embarrassment, too. The realization sent a fresh pang of sympathy through your being.

"You don't need to hide, Jacob. You don't have to protect yourself. That’s what I’m here for," you murmured as you gave his hand that still rested upon your breast bone a gentle, soothing squeeze. "It's all right. Let it out."

"I _can't_ —"

Jacob began in protest, but his own ragged, choked sob cut him off as the last vestiges of the wall he'd built to save himself crumbled beneath your tender words. His fingers on your chest curled, dug in with frantic, bruising strength, and he turned his face downward as he wept. It was a raw, bone deep, aching noise punctuated with whimpering breaths and questions of _Why did this happen?_ to which you had no satisfactory answers. Still, you did not try to hush Jacob. He had every right to cry. He _needed_ to, you believed, and so you sat there at his side as a quiet, strong presence with one hand slowly massaging the back of his neck and down between his shuddering shoulders.

 

A few evenings had passed since Jacob had broken down before you, and he had gone back to being quiet, polite and friendly but reserved all the same. He’d retired to bed early that evening after enjoying a hearty dinner and a small glass of beer, and when you’d checked on him an hour earlier, he had been sound asleep. At present you were sat downstairs with Evie, idly writing in your journal about the small developments with your husband and your worries for him in the future. Would his injuries interfere with his abilities as an Assassin? You did not believe so, but you were also refusing to acknowledge the other option.

Evie sat quietly at the writing desk by the window, penning a letter home to Henry and her children. You wondered, and not for the first time, how long she would remain in England but did not ask. Evie was sensible and she loved her brother. On top of that, you knew that she was worried about the stability and future of the Assassins in London. It was a crucial stronghold for the Brotherhood, after all. She would stay a long as she could to help Jacob and you recover your footing, so long as it didn’t interfere with her duties in India.

The unmistakable sound of glass shattering and metal clattering together, followed by a heavy thump, sounded overhead. You looked toward Evie, who had dropped her pen and was already reaching for her revolver on the desk. The pair of you stood nearly simultaneously and rushed from the sitting room. You were straining to hear more commotion as you took the stairs but heard no other crashing noises or yelling from Jacob. When you reached the upper floor and strode down the hall towards the bedroom door, you saw no light filtering out through the little gap beneath it. Perhaps Jacob had simply fallen out of bed and knocked over the night table. If so, you hoped he hadn’t hurt himself or torn his sutures loose.

When you turned the handle on the door and pushed it open with a faint creak, the atmosphere of the bedroom felt immediately strange and tense and heavy. Your reawakened concern was only fueled when you squinted in the dark and saw that the bed was empty, the blankets thrown in all directions and rumpled a great deal, as if the occupant had flung them aside in haste to vacate the area. You opened your mouth to call out for Jacob as you stepped through the doorway but a quiet, quick intake of breath that didn’t come from you nor from Evie made your words stick in your throat. It took another moment to recognize the sound of muffled, distressed breaths. Worry increasing tenfold, you gave the room a closer look with your Sight, and sure enough it revealed the huddled figure of a man down on the floor on the other side of your powdering table.

“Light the oil lamp over there on the dressing table, Evie. There are matches right beside it,” you said in a low, urgent voice as you went.

She hurried over to do as you bade without question and when the yellow light from the lamp flooded the room, you saw Jacob backed up into the narrow space between your powdering table and the wall. He looked a frightened mess, pale and sweaty and chest heaving as he clutched a hand over the bandaged wound. His other hand was gripped tight at the edge of the table, probably from where he’d tried to catch himself as he’d stumbled and fallen down. The contents of the table, your little tins of face powder and kohl and cold cream were scattered, some knocked to the floor with their lids cast off and contents strewn all over the hardwood. Small puddles of perfume gleamed amid the shattered glass of their bottles. Jacob must have swept his arm across it in his haste to hide himself.

Now that you knew he wasn’t under attack — at least not from a physical threat — you set your revolver onto the bed and then slowly moved to stand before your husband. He didn’t respond as you said his name softly, and then with more volume, so you moved down onto your knees and shuffled forward, holding a hand out to him.

“Jacob? Jacob, I’m right here, love. It’s your wife,” you said, far more calmly than you felt. “You’ve made quite a mess of my things, you know. Do you want to tell me why?”

When he didn’t immediately take your hand, you settled for resting it atop the hard bone of his bent knee. The touch seemed to shake him a little and his eyes shifted from the floor beside you to your face. His brows furrowed and he looked from your face to your hand on his knee. A quiet, hurt noise echoed in his throat as he swallowed heavily, fingers clutching at the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles went white. The first telltale quiver of his lower lip spurred you into action and you reached to help him sit up out of his hiding place, though not quickly enough to let him muffle the first agonized sob against your shoulder. You held him close, cradling the back of his head with one hand and rubbing his side gently with the other.

“What happened?” You asked softly as you leaned your head against his. “Was it a bad dream?”

“No...no, I was awake. I know that I was. I woke up and needed a bit of water and I sat up to get the glass and pitcher and I...I saw him. Right there by the door,” Jacob said in a hoarse, wet voice, his fingers twisting your nightgown and digging into your back. “I felt it. Him hurting me again. I felt the knife in my chest and blood was _everywhere_ and I heard him speaking, plain as day—”

At the mention of his chest, you gingerly eased him back just enough to peek down at the bandage over his injury. It was still in place and wasn’t soaked through with blood, so his sudden activity hadn’t torn the sutures loose. Satisfied, you pressed a kiss to his shoulder and smoothed a hand up and down the sweat dotted curve of his back.

"He isn’t here, darling. I swear it," you said soothingly, nuzzling into his hair and closing your eyes. “I would never, ever let him in here to hurt you. Him nor anyone else.”

Jacob showed no sign that he had heard you. His body quaked and tensed with his effort to keep his weeping quiet, but it was clear that he was crying all the same. The staggered, choked gasps of his breath against your neck made your stomach twist and drop, and you felt the hot sting of tears welling in your own eyes.

"Wasn't ever going to see you again," Jacob bit out harshly, voice tight with pain that you were not sure was physical or inside his own mind. He sounded panicked and feverish as he went on, breath struggling to come in and go out in between his fitful words of lament and sobs.

"Jacob," you tried, sitting back a little and bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. Jacob stopped you short, his hand flying up to grab your wrist with startling force. He looked at you full on, then, brows drawn together and eyes wide with something akin to terror.

"I made him. He was my...my doing. Don't you see that? _Don't you understand_? I led him down our path because I saw good in him and then I abandoned him...let him become twisted and lost...it _is_ my fault. Those women were butchered because of my failure to lead one of my own. I failed him and this is my penance."

Jacob grew so restless as he rambled on and on that you thought for a moment that he might thrash about some more. Planting your hands on his heaving chest and hushing him as softly and soothingly as you could, you felt a hard lump of emotion choke you as you tried to speak.

"Jacob, stop," you begged, blinking in a futile effort to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Jacob’s wild expression eased somewhat when he saw the tears tracking down your cheeks, but you realized a moment later that he looked altogether guilty for causing you such grief. You shook your head fiercely and clutched at his face. "This isn’t your fault. Do you hear me? He won't hurt you any more. He is gone. Jack is never coming back."

"He will," Jacob said thickly, swiping his hand roughly over his eyes. “He will always be here. _Here_.”

Jacob touched his temple to emphasize his meaning. A tremulous whimper worked it's way out at the tail end of his words, and Jacob put up no fight as you cradled him back to your shoulder. You did not know what to say that would soothe him so soon after such trauma, so you simply held Jacob close and stroked his hair as he choked out sobs and muttered apologies. His self flagellation was heartbreaking and you did not understand what was causing him to say such things when Jacob had rarely, if ever, blamed himself so fully for someone else’s actions. It brought up the question you had asked yourself over and over again since the night Doctor Lehman had come to tend Jacob’s wounds: _What has Jack done to him?_

As Jacob trembled in your arms, you struggled to puzzle out just what he had suffered at the Ripper’s hands. You didn’t dare ask him outright what Jack had said, what he had accused Jacob of doing or failing to do, so you rested your head against your husband’s and tightened your arms around him a bit more. There would be time for it later, though you weren’t sure if that was any sort of consolation given the situation.

"We will be okay," you finally whispered as you turned your head, gaze fixed upon the far window of the room. The sky was dark and filled with rain fattened clouds again. You hoped it would pour down soon. The sound of rain upon a window had always comforted Jacob, and surely he would be given at least that this evening. With a soft sigh you closed your eyes and turned your head to press a kiss against your husband's temple, doing your best to hide your quiet sniffles as you wept along with him.

 

Over tea the following morning, Evie offered explanation for what had happened to Jacob. You listened, albeit wearily, chin rested heavily upon your palm as you dropped two lumps of sugar into your cup and stirred. A bit of the dark drink sloshed over the rim of the china and onto the white table linen but you were too tired to bother telling the servant to bring something to dab it up with. Last night had brought very little rest for you once you had retired for the evening. Every creak of the old wooden floors and walls had jerked you back into alertness as an hour ticked by, then another and another. By four o’clock in the morning you were up and sitting in on the lounge with your journal and a blanket around your shoulders, watching Jacob sleep on the other side of the room as you jotted down tired, fractured thoughts.

"There are a few Assassins in Amritsar who suffer from similar fits of intense fear," Evie said softly, not looking up from where she stirred milk into her tea. "It's some sort of mental trauma, I believe. Perhaps what soldiers who return from wars experience. The thousand yard stare, as they call it. We do not have as great of an understanding as we'd like, but it's clear that incredible abuse and stress can bring it on. Most who display it suffered especially cruel torture at the hands of our enemies before escaping or being rescued."

 _Mental trauma_. The idea of it caused fresh worry to take root in your mind. Jacob had already dealt with so much. Horrific amounts of pain and torment. He didn't deserve this, being haunted by a dead man.

"Is there anything that we can do for him?"

"Try to keep him comfortable. If he feels safe, it will help. He will be able to tell you what frightens him and then perhaps you two might be able to help him build new defenses against those things. Time may ease the intensity and frequency of his fits," Evie said with a furrow of her brows, "but it is hard to say how long that may take. The others I’ve seen struggle from time to time, even years later. He'll need you by his side. He trusts you."

“I won’t leave him,” you said, voice soft but steeled with conviction. Your attention had been so resolutely focused upon the wispy tendrils of steam rising from your tea that it surprised you when one of Evie’s hands came into your field of vision and rested upon your wrist. A light squeeze made you look up to meet her gaze and her tired, thin smile.

“I’ve never thought for a moment that you would, Sister.”

Once you’d made sure the children were awake and dressed and doing their reading, you sent a maid to the shop with a cart and a hefty coin purse to purchase as much lamp oil and wick as she could. If Jacob needed light to feel safe in his own bed, you’d burn the lamp every evening for the rest of his days if that was what it took. Evie had said he would struggle with his fear, and you did not deny that she was right, but you would be damned before you’d fail to do everything in your power to ease his mind. To make him feel safe in his own home.

 

Doctor Lehman was not able to return to evaluate Jacob until the following week, his schedule effectively overrun with patients suffering from colds and the flu due to the poor weather. He seemed pleased with the progress that the wound was making and left behind another week's supply of bandages. Once he'd finished checking the integrity of the sutures he shifted his focus to the bruising over Jacob's ribcage, gently prodding and asking if it was painful to the touch and if it hurt to take deep breaths — a suspicion confirmed by Jacob hissing a curse and giving him a very unhappy look after he obliged and took a great breath.

"Fractured ribs, as I thought," he said with a slight tutting noise. "Not deadly, of course, but there's not much I can do for it. Try not to lie on this side too often for another few weeks."

He then inquired about the laudanum and if it had been helpful, but one disgusted wrinkle of Jacob's nose told him all he needed to know. Thankfully he wasn't a stranger to how utterly stubborn Jacob could be a patient as so he did not push the subject. Despite the discomfort inflicted by the doctor’s prodding, Jacob still thanked Lehman for coming when the doctor finished his examination and donned his coat and bowler hat.

"You're healing nicely, Mister Frye. I'll come back in another week to see how you're faring but if you need my attention before then, please don't hesitate to send word."

“Mmm, it’d be a shame to lose your highest paying customer, wouldn’t it?”

Jacob asked in a dry, teasing manner. The doctor looked at him over the round top edge of his spectacles and smiled faintly, equal parts exasperated and amused.

“I daresay it would be, sir.”

 

Doctor Lehman would certainly be receiving a nice bit of coin the next time you saw him, you mused, as you studied Jacob out of the corner of your eye from where you stood at the little end table, making a cup of fresh tea brought up by a servant. Though still bandaged up and restricted in movement where his arm was concerned, the normal, healthy hue had returned to Jacob’s skin and he seemed far less fatigued after a couple of weeks of recovering. On that particular day he had been in a pleasant mood, palming you a satchel of coin and asking for some biscuits from the shop down the street. And you, of course, had obliged.

Upon Jacob's blanketed lap where he was seated by the fire was the newspaper that you'd purchased from a boy outside of the sweets shop. The headline printed boldly at the top of the first page read _A Fortnight Passes Since Jack The Ripper's Most Brutal Killing To Date_ and in slightly smaller text beneath the headline you read _Autumn of Terror may be over, says Sergeant Abberline of Scotland Yard_. Jacob had read the article without much comment after you had finished with it but the furrow of his brow as he sat quietly and gazed into the crackling flames in the hearth spoke volumes.

"Here, love," you called gently to him as you set aside the spoon and took up the cup and saucer in one hand and the little plate of shortbread biscuits in the other. As he turned his head to look up at you, Jacob's brow smoothed at once and a smile crept onto his lips. You hoped it was genuine and not merely a front to assuage your worries. Still, a smile was a smile and given the state of things, you would take whatever Jacob gave.

“Thank you,” he said softly as he reached with his unhindered arm to take the tea and then the plate of biscuits from you. Breakfast hadn’t been terribly long ago, but he still tucked into the shortbread with endearing enthusiasm after taking a testing bite of one and finding the taste more than satisfactory. As he did so, you reached down to take the paper from him, crumpling it matter of factly and giving it a toss that sent it flying, landing in the hearth and immediately catching fire. Jacob looked surprised and almost like he might protest the loss of his reading material, but you simply clicked your tongue and scolded with a gentle _That’s enough of that unpleasantness for today._

After you’d made your own drink and taken a few biscuits to nibble, you settled down beside your husband and leaned into his side, basking in his warmth. With all of the immediately pressing matters in London taken care of, you were looking forward to having some time to be with Jacob, if only for an hour. Generally the Initiates and guards were mindful of the private time that you and Jacob had always set aside from things like strolls in the city parks and taking tea in the afternoons. It was rare they interrupted, save for very serious matters, and so when the parlor door eased open after one courtesy knock you felt annoyed and worried in equal measure. The guard who had been assigned to the front entrance stood there, bowing her head slightly in apology for the intrusion.

“I beg pardon, Madame and Master Frye,” she said briskly. “Mister Abberline has come calling. He seems determined to have an audience. Shall I let him in?”

It took a moment for you to shake the surprise of her announcement. You hadn’t seen the inspector in months — since before you left for Crawley. Recovering yourself, you glanced sideways to Jacob to gauge his reaction. He looked at ease at the prospect of having company, so you nodded curtly to the waiting guard.

“Yes, see him up.”

The guard turned on heel and departed at once with a swish of her coattails. It took but a minute for the sound of voices greeting one another to reach you faintly from the ground floor of the manor. Though you had consented to allowing the man into your home, you couldn’t help but feel apprehensive at seeing him now that you knew exactly how he had behaved while you’d been absent. You trusted that Evie would show impeccable restraint and not start a row over things the inspector had said or done, but you did not know what Abberline would say or do to her in return.

You had no time to reflect upon the issue further as the parlor doorway was suddenly occupied Freddy. He looked chilled, nose and ears red from the cold outside. He removed his bowler at once and nodded amicably in greeting.

“I do hope I’m not intruding upon your afternoon.”

"Freddy!" Jacob exclaimed in genuine delight. He then flashed the older man a wolfish grin. "Bored of a peaceful London already? Come to beg me to return to the streets?"

The inspector snorted as he unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off, draping it over the back of a chair and topping it with his bowler hat.

“I hope I never reach that level of madness, Mister Frye,” Freddy said dryly, but he went to Jacob without pause and took a seat on the chair beside him. “But I am pleased to see you alive and well, nevertheless.”

Though Jacob was wholly and happily distracted by the arrival of the inspector, you couldn’t help but glance in Evie’s direction. She still sat upon the lounge with her hand poised over the letter she had been penning, but her eyes were focused upon Abberline. The look on her face was prying, assessing, and perhaps a slight bit dark. It only made sense, you thought. The inspector hadn’t treated Evie as a friend while you had been away but as a criminal of the worst sort. After a beat, as if she’d grown aware of your gaze, her eyes darted towards you. When she realized you saw and understood her displeasure with seeing the other man, she raised an eyebrow as if to comment upon the boldness of Abberline for coming to see you all. Still, despite your joint annoyance with Evie at the unexpected company, you moved to rise from your seat.

“Care for some tea, Freddy?”

“No, thank you. I’ve a meeting with the captain of the Queen’s guard to attend just shortly so I shan’t be here long,” the inspector said, and though his voice began as polite it gradually shifted as he went on. “If I’m being honest, I did have another reason for my sudden visit.”

His tone wasn’t one of sheepish apology for having an ulterior motive, however. He sounded stern. Your spine stiffened immediately, mind awhirl as you tried to puzzle out what he was there for, what he was going to say or what he wanted from you or your Brotherhood. Of course he was after something. When was the last time Frederick Abberline had ever just come around just to say hello? As he turned his attention to you while he stood from his seat and moved to where his coat was laid out, you felt your own gaze sharpen in return.

“We know that Jack the Ripper is no more, thanks to the efforts of Miss Frye. When I saw his body beneath Lambeth, I confess that I felt nothing short of elated. It was all said and done, the monster was dead and Jacob was saved.”

As he spoke, he opened up the front of his coat and delved his hand into one of its deep inner pockets. You could not place precisely what it was about the way he spoke that was sending up warning signals within you but you felt tense and ready to act against whatever he had decided to say or do.

“That’s why I’m hoping someone here can explain the mess that I had to clean up only the following morning at the train station in Whitechapel.”

“What do you mean, Freddy? What happened at the station?”

“I had to document and clean up no less than four dead bodies, right in the middle of the street for all to see, Jacob! Four men brutally killed and left out on display like butchered hogs at the damned market, one of which had this,” Abberline snapped, and it was only then that he withdrew his hand from within his coat and your eyes fell upon the familiar, ornate curve of _your_ kukri, “buried in his chest.”

Your stomach sank at once and the memory of the fight you’d had flashed in your mind like a bolt of lightening. In your haste to return to Jacob, you’d forgotten to retrieve the weapon from the chest of the fallen man. It was a novice mistake, caused by a lapse in judgement and lack of control over your emotions. A hot wash of shame crept up the back of your neck and you looked downward reflexively into your cup of tea.

“I’m not a fool. I know this weapon belongs to an Assassin and, as Mister Frye and his sister were preoccupied that evening,” the inspector went on, his voice lowering a tad as he slowly and surely strode over to stand before you, “I imagine Madame Frye will be able to tell me who left it behind.”

It was only your pride that made you look up into Abberline’s stormy face, meeting his gaze and holding it rather than allowing yourself to be cowed by his anger. You could see Jacob looking at you intently out of the corner of your vision but you remained outwardly unaffected even as you reached to take the offered blade. For a moment you paused, weighing the kukri in your grasp and debating whether or not you should set it aside or sheathe it within your coat and confirm that it did, in fact, belong to you. The latter option won out in the end. What did it matter, you thought as you opened your coat enough to slide the blade into its sheathe. Clearly he already suspected that you had been the one responsible for the grim scene at the train station. You said nothing as you did it and Freddy seemed affronted by your lack of apology or remorse.

"I am trying to bring a sense of peace back into London, Madame. The Ripper is dead and I do not need more bodies to crop up every bloody night all over the city," Freddy said in a sharp, impatient tone that he'd only ever used on Jacob. "I've covered for you lot quite enough for a lifetime. Please keep the nefarious side of your affairs out of my streets in the future."

 _My streets_. The words coming from him in such a way buried a spike of lowly burning anger in your gut. His streets, indeed, you thought as you cast your eyes downward and took a moment to reign in the sharp retort that was poised upon your tongue. It seemed that he had forgotten who had freed London all those years ago. If not for the Assassins, where would he be? Dead, most likely. Killed by Crawford Starrick or one of his ilk for meddling with Templar business in the name of Scotland Yard.

You knew that it would be folly to voice those sentiments, however, and so you simply looked up at the man and nodded once.

"Certainly, Mister Abberline," you said in a tone of carefully crafted neutrality.

His eyes met yours and held fast, clearly trying to gauge the sincerity of your words. However, as always, he was the first to relent and look away, busying himself with gathering up his gloves and hat from the arm of the lounge. In the few moments during which he was distracted with congratulating Jacob on his recovery and bidding him farewell, you looked across the parlor to where Evie sat. Her expression mirrored how you felt inside as she quietly yet venomously eyed the older man before her attention flickered to you. A slight raise of a brow from her goaded you into action and you stood, setting your tea aside while clearing your throat.

“I’ll see you out, Frederick,” you said in a cordial, calm voice.

Abberline may have taken your words at face value, given his amicable nod as he made for the parlor door, but Jacob’s eyes were calculating as he watched you follow after the other man. You didn’t doubt that he could see the subtle tension in your expression, the tightness of your lips and jaw. He knew all too well when anger was simmering beneath your calm veneer. Thankfully Evie had the presence of mind to engage him in conversation and coax his attention away from you as you led Abberline from the room.

Though you walked alongside the inspector all the way to the upper landing, when he stepped down upon the first step and began to descend the stairs you remained behind and watched him go. Freddy didn’t notice, busy affixing his bowler atop his head and buttoning up his coat. He had nearly made it to the door when you called out to him, moving to rest your hands on the bannister as you gazed down upon him. He paused at once and turned back around with a quizzical expression, clearly surprised to find you no longer following along behind him.

"Yes, Madame?"

For a moment you hesitated, unsure if it was worth the trouble to bring it up, but then you cleared your throat and squared your stance slightly.

"I understand that, in the absence of myself and my husband, you threatened to have Evie falsely imprisoned and charged for crimes she did not and certainly would never commit."

Even from your vantage point above him, you saw brief mollification in his expression before he frowned.

"Now see here. I was simply—"

"No, _you_ see here, Mister Abberline. I've no interest in hearing your justification for treating one of my Sisters in such a way. One of my family members at that," you cut in briskly, tilting your head at a slight angle and pursing your lips. "We have been allies for a very long time, Freddy. You know us. You know our character. For you to accuse Evie Frye of slaughtering an entire household...it is utmost disrespect. Furthermore, if you had indeed had your way and locked her up, my husband would likely have succumbed to infection and died beneath Lambeth Asylum while you unfairly punished a woman who has only ever been your friend. Did you ever stop to consider that in your fervor to find someone to blame for the crimes in Whitechapel? Did it ever cross your mind that she was the only one who had any hopes at all of saving my husband? Or was it only ever about being the sodding golden goose in the eyes of the public?"

You had wanted to keep your voice down but you weren’t sure that you’d entirely succeeded and with the door to the parlor standing open, Jacob and Evie had surely heard you. Abberline seemed to have no idea what to say, his brows furrowed as he lowered his gaze from you to his own feet. He looked deeply embarrassed.

"I behaved irrationally," Freddy finally muttered. "I can see that, now. I sincerely apologize. You must know that I would never want to do anything to jeopardize Jacob's life."

"I don't believe you would," you said in a slightly softer manner, but you weren't done just yet. "Still, I suggest you tread very carefully when it comes to what you accuse my family of in the future. We have a legacy to protect that is older and grander than you could comprehend and I will not allow anyone to besmirch it or endanger it. Not even you, inspector. You would do well to never forget who we are and what we are. We are friends. Allies. We have been for years. Do not put me into a position where I need to reassess that because I assure you, you will not enjoy the outcome."

Freddy studied you for a moment, expression unreadable as he took in what you had said. Then he gave a single, firm nod.

"Understood, Madame. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Freddy. Thank you for coming to see him."

You remained in place until the inspector had been let out of the house by one of the guards standing at the door, and once he was out of sight you felt the tension in your back and shoulders release. You hadn’t wanted to burn the bridge between Abberline and the Assassins, after all, but you felt satisfied that the inspector had been chastised for his behavior. Hopefully you would not ever need to mention the discussion again.

However, as you stepped back into the parlor and saw Jacob’s wickedly delighted grin and raised brows, you couldn’t help but worry that Abberline would be reminded more than once that it would be unwise to cross you in the future.

“Four bodies in Whitechapel, hmm? And to snuff Freddy’s candle like that…”

“Drink your tea, darling,” you said curtly as you plopped back down beside Jacob on the lounge and reached across him to steal a biscuit from his plate. You heard what might’ve been mistaken for a cough come from Evie, had you not glanced over to see her pursing her lips to hide a smile.

“Yes, love,” Jacob sighed, eyeing you mischievously but leaning over to plant a tender kiss upon your temple.

 

November came to a blessedly quiet, uneventful close where crime and Templars were concerned, bringing with it ice on the window panes and light sprinkles of snow. Jacob’s night terrors and other fits of fear were ever present, however, though he was learning how to recover from them with more ease rather than allowing it to derail him entirely for the rest of his day. Despite initial desistance out of stubborn pride and embarrassment, Jacob began to be honest about things that he believed caused his fits. Sudden loud voices after long periods of silence, darkness, cold spaces. He'd also been reduced to trembling and trying to pull himself together after entering the sitting room one morning and catching sight of his own coat and tophat on the stand in the corner, his mind associating the silhouette with Jack and going into overdrive. With unerring patience and compassion on your part, Jacob was often able to at least return to sleep for a few hours after having a terrible dream and he no longer seemed ashamed to seek your company in the day if he needed comfort. He was not recovered by any stretch. He was no longer the same as he had been before and he likely never would be, but every small improvement was more than you could have hoped for, given what he had suffered through.

Or, what you assumed he had gone through based upon his injuries when Evie had brought him home. Though he was capable of conversation, of laughing with the children and discussing Brotherhood matters with you and his sister, Jacob had not breathed a word of his ordeal since his first outburst weeks prior. Even then, he had only recounted his initial fight with Jack that left him wounded. Not what had happened beneath Lambeth Asylum. Curious as you were, however, you would not ask Jacob to speak of it.

As soon as you had come to terms with that, though, Jacob pulled the rug out from beneath you as he lay in bed one evening, studying the ceiling in the low lamp light while you settled down beside him, face nestling into your pillow and eyes closing heavily, ready for slumber.

“He wasn’t always around...Jack, I mean. He’d come and go every few days. When he was there, I...I was made to endure whatever he fancied putting me through. Mostly beatings. A lot of terrible words about the women he’d killed and...things he’d planned to do. I still don’t remember everything. Perhaps that’s for the best.”

The sudden sound of Jacob’s voice in the silence of the room startled you. When you realized what he was saying, your stomach twisted unpleasantly.

“Jacob,” you whispered as you turned onto your side to face him. Warning or pleading you weren’t sure, but you didn’t want him to tell you things he wasn’t ready to voice. You didn’t need his disclosure. He went on as if you hadn’t spoken, though, following your lead and turning so that he could look you in the eye and reach out to touch your cheek.

" _Please_. I feel like I have an awful secret, keeping all of these memories locked up inside my head. I don’t want to be alone with him in my head. It’s killing me,” Jacob breathed out, sounding for an alarming moment like he might shed tears. You felt immensely guilty at once for trying to avoid the conversation and you lifted the bed linens and patted the spot right beside you.

“Oh, Jacob. Come here, now...there we are,” you said gently, guiding Jacob to settle in close enough that he could lean his forehead to yours. You rifled your fingers through his hair and massaged your fingertips against the back of his head in a slow, soothing rhythm. “I’m listening. Say as much as you need to.”

You felt his breath upon your lips settle again after a moment and then Jacob closed his eyes.

“Jack followed me to a small hideout I had in Whitechapel. I’d intended to gather what little information I had and then go underground until Evie came to help but I just...I went back to one of his murder scenes. I had a feeling that I was missing something and I...it was a trap. We fought and he bested me. It’s my fault that I lost. I was a fool...I suppose I always have been a fool when it came to him. I thought that I could still coax him to return to my side somehow, even as he held his blade above my face. I’d always believed the best in him. It made me weak. After he’d won and taken me from Whitechapel, I didn’t wake for some time and I was already locked up beneath the asylum by then,” Jacob murmured, going slow as if he had to sift through a great jumble of thought to get at the right words. You said nothing, only kept up the gentle stroking of your fingers against Jacob’s scalp.

“The cell was so dark. I’ve never been anywhere else so damn dark in my life. No windows, no lanterns apart from the one Jack brought with him when he...visited me. I couldn’t tell how many days went by before I did see him again. I was cold and weak from bleeding and having nothing to eat. I couldn’t...I tried to fight him but I...he was stronger. He kicked me until I couldn’t breathe, took me by the throat and squeezed until I went limp. It was pure agony like I’d never felt before. I thought that I might die that day but Jack stopped. Then he...he left half a loaf of old bread and enough water behind to get me through to the next time he came and disappeared. It wasn’t mercy. He only wanted me to live so that he could punish me further.”

“For a short time I was able to limp or crawl about and look for a way out of the cell but after a time I could no longer stand. I had to sit there while Jack came to me. I couldn’t do anything to make him _stop_ and I tried so hard not to scream when he thrashed me about but I couldn’t help it. He got what he wanted. After a couple of weeks I spent most of my time asleep. Or unconscious. I don’t know. I suppose it was a blessing, in a way. The faster I went out, the sooner he left me alone.”

Jacob’s voice had gone thin and reedy as he’d spoken and it finally cracked on his last word. You pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead and smoothed your hand down the back of his neck to rest between his shoulder blades. The fine tremors of his repressed sobs made his muscles quiver with the effort of holding back his sounds. You felt a hot, hard fist of utter rage settle into your stomach. Jack was dead already but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t ever going to be enough to make up for what he had reduced Jacob to. What he’d forced Jacob to endure.

“We can stop, love—”

“ _No_ ,” Jacob bit out, his breath stuttered as it hit your neck. He gave a slight shake of his head for emphasis and then cleared his throat in a weak attempt to gather himself. “No. I need to tell you...Jack discovered that you’d gone. I don’t know how long it took him to figure out that you and the children had vanished before he could get to you. He knew that I’d managed to hide you from him and he was _furious_ . He tried to force me to tell him where you were but I didn’t. I swear to you I didn’t breathe a word about where you’d taken the children. After a short time he realized that physical pain wasn’t enough and so he...he used every bloody fear tactic we taught him. Made me see the terrible things he had planned for you, made me hear the children crying for me to help them and made me hear _you_ screaming as he described how he’d gut you and force me to watch. I saw my little ones with cut throats and my wife torn open and I thought I’d go mad but I said _nothing_. _I didn’t betray you. I wouldn’t_ —”

“I believe you,” you said in a quick but hushed manner, rubbing Jacob’s back and holding him tightly. “I believe you, Jacob. I know you would never give us up to anyone. You did brilliantly. Jack didn’t best you. You defeated him.”

Jacob’s chest was heaving and so you gently eased him to lie flat upon his back, pushing the bed linens down toward his hips to allow him some more room to breath. You touched his cheek gingerly, stroking lightly and murmuring his name until he opened his tightly clenched eyes and looked up at you. His gaze was so hurt and helpless, eyes bloodshot and puffy. You gave him the best smile that you could and touched the damp corner of his eye with your thumb.

“You are so strong and brave. You’re always banging on about how I’m brave for you, but...jesus, Jacob. I’m blessed to have you looking out for me. We all are. This entire city is.”

A fat tear trickled out of the corner of Jacob’s swollen eye and you cooed softly, swiping it away with a careful brush of your finger. You leaned down then and pressed a ghost of a kiss to his bruised brow.

“I love you,” you whispered as you brushed your lips down the line of his nose and over his cheek, pausing to kiss the faint smile lines imprinted into his skin. “I love you and your children love you and Evie loves you. You’re safe here with us, now. We’ll move forward together.”

“I love you, too,” Jacob muttered thickly, throat working as he swallowed hard. “I want you to be happy. Surely you know that. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you and I’m afraid I’ve mucked it all up at last.”

“Nonsense. I am happy, darling,” you whispered reassuringly, nuzzling your nose against his scruffy jawline. “You’re here and I’m here. That was all I needed when you asked for my hand in marriage and it’s all I need now.”

Your gentle, fleeting kisses to his cheek paired with the soothing circle your rubbed against his chest helped Jacob slowly regain control of his breath, the tension bleeding out of him as he settled down. After a while he took a soft breath and you turned your head in time to meet his gaze as he spoke.

“You did save me. Evie found me but you...when Jack came to me and hurt me, I tried to think of anything to take my mind off of the pain. Off of his words,” Jacob said, reaching across the small gap between your bodies and resting his hand on your cheek. “I thought about you most of the time. Your skin, how soft your lips are on mine and how you sound when I pleasure you. I thought about the time we spent together in our youth and the things we did. Like when I asked you to marry me without even having the ring like an utter idiot but you still said yes. I imagined how pretty you were in your wedding dress with that long veil over your hair. Of how you flourished within our Brotherhood and grew into such a strong woman that I was lucky to call my wife. How happy it made you when I said I wanted us to have a child. Of course I thought of our children, of my sister and...even my father. But it was you. I wanted to make it back for you.”

Jacob paused, looking thoughtful even as he moved his thumb up over your cheek to swipe away the tear that had welled and fallen from your lower lashes.

“I wanted you to know that. I’ve done a splendid job of ruining what we’ve worked so hard to achieve and I feel...so strange. Not quite myself. But I still love you as much as I did when I asked you to be my wife. Even more so, now. I love you and I need you. You’ve always been good for me.”

“I love you, too,” you managed to get out in a wavering breath, and it seemed so lacklustre in comparison to everything that Jacob had just confessed but it was true. You meant it with every fiber of your being. When you failed after another beat to get your tears and trembling lips under control, Jacob crooned soothingly, but the quick glint of amusement in his eyes made you huff and pinch him low on his belly.

“This is your doing, you soppy clod!”

“I know,” Jacob chuckled quietly, pecking your forehead and cheeks before kissing your lips. “I know.”

 

After he had opened up about his time beneath Lambeth, Jacob’s mood began to slowly, steadily improve. He spent less time gazing idly out the window or frowning to himself as he brooded and more time engaged in conversation with Evie, or his children, or even in his office going through his letters. With the pain in his legs subsided save for the occasional twinge, he was also more mobile and made it a point to go to and fro on his own accord for cups of tea from downstairs or even down in the hidden chambers below the manor to fetch some important document or book. You worried initially that he was pushing himself too much out of stubborn impatience, but after a few days of hovering around him, you decided to leave him be. Jacob had always been an active man, after all. Sitting about all day had likely been maddening. A bit of exercise, if only in the house, would benefit him in more ways than one.

With Jacob needing less help, now, your attention was inevitably drawn back to the Brotherhood. Initiates had been around the house with increasing frequency, looking for guidance and asking with obvious distress if the London Brotherhood was no more. It saddened you to hear their worry and so you resolved to arrange a Council meeting just after Christmas to provide them with a clear path. It was time for you to come back from the role of fretting wife and resume your place as a Master and — for the time being — head of the London Brotherhood. There was still quite a mess to clean up, after all.

Knowing that the Christmas holiday would likely be the last period of peace and time you could devote entirely to your family, you savored every second of it. Jacob finally had the grand dinner that you had promised him, complete with a sugar glazed ham, a crate of his favorite beer, and a thick Christmas pudding. By the end of the evening Jacob had curled up with you on the lounge before the hearth, face nestled rather salaciously into your bosom as he hummed, happy and more than a little drunk, until the pair of you fell asleep.

 

Just as you had promised to yourself and to the Initiates, two days after Christmas you opened the Council chamber for the first time in months and sent out a summons to all Masters, Assassins, as many Initiates as you could reach that you desired their presence in your halls. That same morning you had gone down into the hidden tunnels below the house yourself to see the entrance that had been sealed against Jack reopened so that your Brothers and Sisters could arrive in secrecy. It was an exciting prospect to be reunited with them after all the chaos, the loss...but it would be a grim celebration in the face of all that had happened.

Jacob was aware of the meeting and had asked if you needed him to attend as well, but you had reassured him that he did not need to both if he felt he needed to rest instead. The others would understand. You knew that whispers about what Jacob had endured at Jack’s hands had gotten out amongst their ranks, which you supposed was a blessing in the end. They would not question it if Jacob was absent from their first Council session in some time.

It wasn’t to be a terribly long gathering; you simply wanted to touch base with the remaining Assassins and Initiates and make sure they all still wanted to serve the Brotherhood in London. You had set the time for the meeting at noon and the first Initiates and Masters began to file in shortly before that. They seemed as uneasy as you imagined they would be, looking around furtively for signs of trouble until they laid eyes upon you where you sat at the head of the table. Some of them simply nodded in greeting, other muttering a respectful _Madame Frye_ as they took their seats or, if of lower rank, stood around the table and spoke in whispers to each other. As the minutes passed and the room gradually filled, you were given a stark reminder of how many members you had lost. Five chairs sat empty, their occupants fallen at Jack’s hand. No one tried to seat themselves in them, and it made your heart swell with immense pride as well as great sorrow.

When the stream of new arrivals slowed and finally stopped a few minutes after the hour, you cleared your throat and got to your feet. All hushed conversation around the room ceased at once, curious and worried eyes focused upon you in search of answers and leadership. You hoped with every part of you that you could provide it.

“I do not speak lightly when I say that I am relieved to see so many of you here, alive and well,” you began in a steady voice, brows furrowing a little at the distraught looks upon some of the faces in the room. “I know that you have all lacked proper leadership as of late, left to your own devices. Left to hide in fear of what would happen if you were discovered to be associated with this Brotherhood. But I will be the first to assure you beyond all doubt that Jack the Ripper...the Lad...is dead. I watched his body burn myself.’

You hesitated, then, and looked downward at the polished wood of the table top.

“But despite our triumph, we have lost so much. Sisters have died in the most terrible and degrading of ways, and we have lost valuable footing on this city. I will not lie to you all. I fear for our future here. If we are to remain in London as a strong, unyielding voice for the freedom that that Templars would see taken away once more, we _must_ stand together.”

You hesitated, gauging the reaction of your audience. They were listening, intently so, as if they were hinging upon each word that fell from your lips. Encouraged that none seemed angry or doubtful of your words, you motioned towards the map of London that hung upon the wall to your right.

“Whitechapel is in ruin. Jack is dead but his gang is still very much alive and running amok in the borough. Leaving a wound like that on this great city to fester and rot will leave the perfect opening for Templar forces to infiltrate London before we know what has happened. I therefore suggest a widespread purge, if you will, of all individuals guilty of supporting Jack—”

The rough, grating noise of the passageway in the piano room opening up cut you off mid sentence. You surveyed the occupants of the table, trying to imagine who else could be arriving before looking towards the doorway. You anticipated another nervous looking Initiate to come slinking in and reassurances that they’d done no wrong were already poised upon your tongue. So when a broad figure wearing the coat of a Master stepped into view a moment after the passage closed, you couldn’t help but gape, words lost to shock.

Apart from the fatigued shadows under his eyes and the cane in his hand to help bear his weight, Jacob looked like his old self. He’d combed his hair and the edges of his facial hair were finely groomed into submission. When his eyes moved from the table to where you stood at the head of it, he started forward with a faint smile. The room was silent, deathly so, and Jacob looked around furtively as he came to stand beside you. He studied you closely for a moment, gaze unreadable, and then he simply pulled out his chair and took his seat, hands folding atop the table.

“Apologies for my tardiness, Madame. Please, carry on.”

For a moment you couldn’t find your voice, a hard lump of emotion in your throat. He should have been upstairs, reading or having tea and resting. Perhaps playing cards with the children to bolster his spirits. He was still so tired and sore and his chest wound, while making wonderful progress, was not fully healed deep down in the tissue. But he’d put forth the effort to shave and dress in all of his Assassin finery just to make an appearance. To show that even now he wasn’t going to abandon his Brotherhood or his wife. Though you two always strove to act professional and serious in the Council room, you reached out and gently touched his cheek for a few seconds, thumbing over his skin and smiling a bit before turning your attention back to the table.

“As I was saying...our biggest task now is to regain control over Whitechapel. It is time to begin purging the traitors we once called Rooks. I’ve had spies within the prostitution circles pinpointing their gathering places in the bowels of the borough and tonight we will seek them out before they have the chance to regroup or flee. I also want the remaining members of Jack’s gang to be rooted out of every dark corner and brought to their knees. We are not taking prisoners. We are not negotiating. We must be firm and show that we still have the strength to rule this city. If we do not, I fear it will open the door for the Templars to try to take London back from us. Am I understood?”

A resounding _Yes, Madame_ met your ears and you nodded, satisfied with the response.

“In the spring we’ll begin another round of initiations for those of you who feel you’re ready for it,” you said at length, casting long, knowing looks at a select few who you expected would fly through the final trials and join your ranks with ease. “And the Masters will begin recruiting new members to...to make up for those who we’ve lost. Our numbers are too few and it’s urgent that we remedy it before word spreads.”

A heavy, sad silence filled the room as you paused to let the words sink in. A few individuals around the table nodded and looked at each other wordlessly. A sudden movement at your side made you turn just in time to see Jacob gingerly stand from his chair, a hand braced on the table to support himself. He studied the others for a long moment, seemingly searching for his voice as he did so. When he did speak, his tone was far more vulnerable than you’d expected.

“I’ll not prattle on and try to save face. This isn’t Parliament. I’ve failed you over these past months. Our Brotherhood was brought to the brink of destruction. Five of your Sisters are dead because of my poor leadership,” Jacob’s voice faltered, and he took a moment to gather himself, gazing downward at his hand splayed upon the table before him. “I don’t expect forgiveness for it. I don’t believe I deserve forgiveness. I allowed a dangerous man into our midst and I forced all of us to pay the price. I’d give my life to make sure it didn’t happen again. I’d give my life if it would bring them all back...but I suppose it’s useless to say such things now.”

“I will remain at the helm of this Brotherhood and I will continue to Mentor those who’ve been under my guidance. I want my pupils to succeed and be granted the title of Assassin and I swear that I’ll help you achieve anything you wish. However, after a good deal of reflection, I’ve decided that my wife...that Madame Frye will take on the responsibility of selecting new Initiates for the foreseeable future and deciding which of them will be granted the title of Assassin. I trust her judgement far more than my own at present and so shall the rest of you. What happened with Jack will not ever happen again. She’ll make sure of that.”

You wanted to protest. Jacob had always been so involved with choosing new members and overseeing their initiations. However, he was the leader and it was ultimately his decision. In addition, it was clear that he wasn’t himself. He would need time to heal, outwardly and inward, and he needed someone who he could trust to take over that part of the Brotherhood. So you sighed quietly and nodded, accepting and understanding, and settled your hand onto his shoulder.

“Very well,” you said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as you looked at the others. You took a moment to gather your thoughts and square your shoulders before speaking. “Your Master has spoken. I trust there are no objections."

A sudden movement towards the opposite end of the table made your eyes dart towards it, and you saw a young man who had nudged his way between two other Initiates and was wringing his hands a little, nervous even as his expression was fierce and open. You recognized him as a former Rook named Francis, another urchin and orphan who had shown rare discipline amongst his more rambunctious gang peers and so you had encouraged him to rise up and join your ranks. He had been loyal and diligent in his journey to become an Assassin. Seeing him standing and apparently searching for his voice, you felt a flicker of worry in your gut. If he voiced dissent, would the others do the same?

You fears were dashed a moment later when he cleared his throat and his voice, earnest and strong, filled the room.

“We live by the Creed, Mister Frye. We live an’ die by it. Any of us would ‘ave done as our departed Sisters had if you’d asked because it would ’ave been the right thing to do. To protect the people of London. Maybe I only speak for myself, but you an’ Madame Frye ‘ave been my family for more’n ten years, now, an’ never  _ once _ ‘ave I felt let down by you. You didn’t fail us, Mister Frye. Not by half.”

When Francis had finished he seemed to want to withdraw into himself, but when the nearest Master to him, a serious faced woman, settled a hand upon his shoulder and squeezed with an approving nod, the youth seemed to find the courage he needed to stay standing in the spotlight. You gave your own nod of appreciation at the sentiment that had been voiced and turned to look to Jacob. He seemed speechless and lost, eyes scanning the room as though he could not fathom the loyalty that his Brotherhood was displaying in the darkest hour in its history.

“Thank you, Francis. You are a credit to us all,” you finally replied kindly before addressing the rest of the room. “I trust there are no objections to that, either?”

A low utterance of _No, Madame_ sounded from several places around the table. Pleased with the direction that the meeting had set for the time being and the note that it had ended upon, you dismissed them with a wave of your hand towards the door. As they began to rise and file out of the room, you turned your back to them and looked at Jacob. He was deep in thought, gazing absently at the tabletop as his fingers played together, clasping and unclasping, spinning the wedding band upon his left hand. Still shaken by the words directed at him, no doubt. Once the last of the Initiates had gone and you heard the passageway close with a thud, you rested your hand on Jacob’s forearm and murmured his name, coaxing him to look up at you.

For a moment the words _Are you sure this is what you want? To give leadership over to me?_ were poised on the tip of your tongue but the longer you looked at your husband and took in his tired, shadowy gaze the more you realized that he needed it. He’d given control over to you because he trusted you and because he couldn’t handle it all. Not right now.

So instead of questioning and doubting him, you moved your hand to his cheek and leaned down to kiss his temple.

“You look very handsome today, Mister Frye,” you said warmly, thumbing over his cheek. His face had filled out now that he was eating well, though he still looked a tad thin. Shaking off the observation, you hummed fondly. “How are we doing?”

His lips twitched in faint, dry amusement as he rolled his left shoulder, slow and careful. A flicker of pain across his face made you frown as his shoulder reached its peak, the muscle and skin on his chest stretching.

“Alive,” he sighed wistfully, unfolding his hands and reaching for you. “Missing my darling girl.”

Though you tried to protest, Jacob hushed you and drew you in to perch on his lap. You gave him a mildly reproachful look but he ignored it, leaning in to kiss you instead. His left hand rested on your lower back while the right stroked your hair and cheek and down the side of your neck. He kissed you again and again for some long, unhurried minutes, only releasing your lips to nuzzle into the crook of your neck and hold you close.

“I didn’t mean to spring that upon you as I did...putting you in charge of the Initiates,” Jacob breathed into your skin, halting and apologetic as ever. “I’ve only been doing a lot of thinking while I’ve sat about doing nothing—”

“You don’t need to defend your decision to me,” you cut in gently as you stroked a hand over his hair and down to the nape of his neck. “I understand.”

“I know you do,” Jacob replied, voice softer still, and his arms tightened around your middle. A huff of his breath against your neck followed. “I want so badly to accompany you tonight but this sodding wound—”

“Needs to be given time to heal,” you finished in a soothing manner, stroking a hand over Jacob’s cheek when he looked up at you. “I can’t have you getting into a scrap and hurting yourself even more.”

Jacob sighed, put out, but he nodded anyway.

“You’re right...I’m confident that you will bring this mess to a quick and quiet end. You don’t need my help.”

Despite his unerring support, a niggling doubt was whispering at the very back of your mind. Something in your expression must have given it away because Jacob murmured your name and gently took your chin between thumb and forefinger. His gaze was serious and even but utterly void of judgement, and his tone matched when he at last spoke.

“You will punish them accordingly. Past loyalties and friendships be damned. Never forget what they would have seen done to us. To our children.”

“Never,” you breathed heatedly, and that fury that you had been sitting on, holding in was suddenly right beneath the surface of your being, howling and demanding to be acknowledged at long last. Jacob surely sensed it but rather than admonishing you, he craned his neck upward and kissed you, long and slow as his hand smoothed down your spine.

“Do what I cannot at present,” he whispered against your lips, and when you opened your eyes he nodded. “I only ask that you come back to me when you are satisfied.”

“I could do nothing else,” you replied, catching his lips once more with your own and allowing just a few moments to enjoy being near him. It was a sensation that you would carry with you that night, if any doubt arose about what you were setting out to do. Inaction had nearly cost you everything once. You would not be so foolish a second time.

And, indeed, when you returned in the late hours of the night, tired and cold with coat sleeves and blades and face spattered with blood and came upon Jacob fast asleep on the lounge in front of the hearth with both children sprawled out in a mess of quilts and pillows on the floor beside their father, you knew that it had been the correct path to take. That protecting this was worth shedding the blood of those you once called friend. It always would be.

 

After weeks of growing accustomed to sleeping with lamps lit and Jacob sometimes tossing and turning fitfully, you were able to sleep soundly through most of it. It had been difficult at first but you’d not wanted to make Jacob feel guilty for disrupting your sleep, so you endured it with nothing but gratitude that he was still alive. By the time January arrived, you did not notice any but the worst of Jacob’s night terrors. So when soft, tentative pressure on your neck and against your ribs coaxed you awake, you were a little alarmed through your grogginess at the strange stimulus. You could see the clock standing in the corner of the room, bearing a time of half and some after two o'clock in the morning. Disheveled and confused, you turned your head a little at the feeling of another kiss on your neck, right beneath your ear. The hand on your side ran up and up, stopping short of the curve of your breast before moving back downward towards your hip. The faint warmth of Jacob's breath on your skin sent a shiver up your spine, but you still felt a pang of concern.

"Jacob," you murmured sleepily. "Are you all right?"

Jacob made a quiet noise and tucked his face into your shoulder.

"Yes...well, yes and no, if I'm being honest," he said lowly.

Even though your mind was muddled with sleep, you heard the edge of tense need in his voice. That shook off some of the grogginess and you rolled halfway over so that you could look at your husband. As you'd expected, Jacob had a tight, longing expression on his face and when you slipped a hand over to rest between his thighs under the linens, your fingers bumped the hard line of his cock within his drawers. He looked wide awake in comparison to you and you wondered how long he'd been lying there, trying to decide if he wanted to disturb you or just let you rest and deal with his arousal himself.

You could have teased him, easily so, and he would've blushed and told you to hush up and help him. It didn't feel right to do so, in that moment. He hadn't tried to do anything more than kiss and cuddle you since he'd been well enough to do so. Now that he was coming to you and clearly eager to share pleasure with you...your heart leapt and began to beat faster at the prospect. Jacob was watching you closely, gauging your reaction, and so you simply leaned in and kissed him. His lips parted for your tongue with a shaky exhale and he brought a hand up to cradle your cheek.

"What do you need, love?"

"I...I want to be inside of you," Jacob breathed quietly against your lips, as if he were confessing something deep and secretive. "Your cunt is so warm and soft and I...I've missed it. I've missed _you_."

You couldn't help but smile at him and press another long, lingering kiss to his lips. His thumb swept over the bone of your cheek slowly, touching the corner of your eye as he caught your lip between his teeth and pulled until you moaned. As he slid his tongue into your mouth, Jacob's hand ghosted down the side of your neck and over your breasts, pausing to rest low on your belly and pull your hips back until your ass was pressed against his groin. Even through your nightgown, the thick line of his cock nestled between the cheeks of your ass made you feel abruptly hot and shivery and you wriggled back against him even more. Jacob groaned heatedly into your mouth and rolled his hips forward, following your motions as you rocked against him.

"Can I take you like this? My shoulder...I can try another way, if you would prefer, but—”

You hushed him softly as you turned over to face him, catching his lips in a proper kiss. Your hands settled upon his chest, smoothing up to his neck and then down, down over his belly before dipping beneath the bed linens. With a little guidance from your hands and some amused fumbling, you managed to slide his drawers down his legs until Jacob was able to kick them off.

“I’ll do the work. I only want you to enjoy yourself,” you breathed against his lips, teasing the curve of them with your teeth as you stroked your fingertips up and down the length of his cock. A heated, low moan rumbled in Jacob’s chest at your touch and his hips canted forward towards your hand, drawing a wicked smile from you. For a few long, unhurried minutes you simply toyed with him, kissing him until he was softly panting for breath while your hand stroked over his cock with firm, slow movements. Only after your fingers were wet with the arousal beading at the head of him did you pull your hand way, lifting it to your lips to taste him with delicate strokes of your tongue.

“Sit back against the headboard. Make yourself comfortable,” you instructed succinctly, pecking his lips once more before you gripped the covers and flung them away. You felt Jacob’s eyes upon you as you stood from the bed but you didn’t turn to call him on it or tease him. You simply slid your hands down to your thighs and gripped the cotton of your nightgown, pulling it up and up to reveal your legs, hips, breasts…

“Oh…” You heard Jacob speak as you tugged the gown over your head and turned to throw it aside. When you looked back to him, his expression was awed and open in his appreciation and desire. He swallowed, brows furrowing a little as he pushed himself back into the pillows he had arranged between his back and the headboard. “What have I done to deserve such beauty?”

You pursed your lips to hide your silly grin as you moved back to the bed, moving on hands and knees until you reached your husband. His hands were upon you at once, smoothing up your sides and around to cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading the swell of them as he kissed you. His touch made you squirm and whine in delight, lips parting to allow him to lick into your mouth as his fingers pinched and tugged gently at your nipples until they ached. The hunger that had been tucked away for weeks, months, was beginning to howl and demand to be acknowledge, and you gave Jacob’s lower lip a firm nip before you pulled away. He groaned, surprised and aroused in equal measure, and his expression held there as he watched you move to kneel between his splayed thighs. You smiled, slow and sweet, and then lowered your head without preamble as you curled a hand around his cock, squeezing tight as you closed your lips around his head and sucked.

A shaken, whimpering sound like you had hardly ever heard from him issued forth and you rolled your eyes upward to Jacob’s face. Or rather the underside of his jaw. His head was tipped back against the headboard, chest moving in shallow, stuttered breaths as he trembled. The reaction was baffling until a voice in your head reminded that Jacob hadn’t felt pleasure like this in months. Not since your coupling the night before you left for Crawley. If anything his body had grown accustomed to discomfort, cold, and pain and that realization sent a pang of sympathy through you.

You hummed around him, low and reassuring, and ran your free hand up over his tense stomach and chest, soothing him like a startled beast as you slid his cock further into your mouth. The familiar taste of his skin and the weight of him on your tongue, his girth stretching your lips at his base, made you feel dizzy with want, your skin hot and flushed as you worked your mouth over his length. The sudden weight of one of his hands on your head, fingers tangling into your hair, made you hum appreciatively and look up at him again. His lower lip was flushed from his teeth catching it and he breathed your name in a fitful rush.

“I’ll finish if you aren’t careful,” he muttered, voice as embarrassed and apologetic as he looked in that moment. His hand that had been fisted into the linens moved to your face, the pad of his thumb touching the the spit slick corner of your lips. His confession made you huff a laugh through your nose and you lifted your head, turning your face to pepper kisses along the tender insides of his thighs. You felt the fine tremors of his muscles there, the restraint he was trying to display so as to not reach his end so soon.

“I’m confident in my ability to get you ready for another round,” you murmured teasingly against his knee, peering up at him in a rather coquettish manner. That made him swallow hard, cheeks growing ruddy and his tongue darting out absently to lick his lips before he nodded shortly.

Satisfied with his permission to continue, you slid him slowly, slowly back into your mouth until the thick head of his cock nudged into your throat. Holding him there, you undulated the flat of your tongue against the underside of his flesh while one of your hands snuck downward to gently squeeze and roll the delicate sac under his cock. You could taste the fluid leaking from him, salty and warm in your mouth, and it made you shiver with want and, in a moment’s decision, slide your free hand down between your thighs to circle and stroke your fingers over the flushed bud of your clit.

“You filthy little thing,” Jacob gritted out through his quick, harsh breaths. His hips arched and bucked unsteadily, fucking into the tight heat of your mouth as he tried to pull you closer by your hair. Peering up at him from beneath your lashes, you saw the feral, heated look his face just before he tilted his head back and groaned, loud and aching. The heat of his release as he spilled into your mouth in long, messy bursts made you groan in approval and take him in fully, working him through his release with firm strokes of your tongue.

When he had settled a little, muscles still shaking and chest heaving, you looked up at him and caught his gaze with your own. Emboldened by his pleasure, you lifted your head and parted your lips just enough to allow a thin dribble of his seed to drip down your chin. The effect was immediate and exactly what you had wanted; Jacob gripped you by the nape of your neck and hauled you upward until you were astride his hips. His kiss was demanding, tongue darting into your mouth to taste himself on your tongue while his free hand roamed over your body, squeezing and kneading and, when it reached the swell of your backside, swatting you firmly.

“Tart,” he whispered hotly against your mouth. You grinned wickedly for a beat, but the mischief of the moment was short lived as you settled more fully against Jacob, your hands stroking over his chest and up the sides of his neck. Noting the change in your demeanor and even within the atmosphere of the room itself, Jacob slid an arm about your waist and cradled your jaw in his hand, the kiss he gave you far more languid and sweet than those just minutes ago.

Knowing that he would need a short while to recover, you slid your arms about his neck and returned his kisses as he gave them, toying at his hair and lightly massaging the nape of his neck. Jacob hummed contentedly at your ministrations and, after one more long kiss, ducked his head to the crook of your neck and sighed into your skin. The action made you smile to yourself and you kissed the top of his head, murmuring his name to get his attention. When he looked up into your face, attentive and curious and clearly ready to do whatever you asked, you swallowed against a sudden wave of emotion and licked your lips.

“Touch me.”

Jacob huffed a laugh at the base, simple request and nudged his nose against yours, kissing you again with more purpose.

“Gladly.”

As he teased your lips with soft licks and nibbles he slid a hand down the curve of your breasts and stomach to settle between your thighs. You felt his fingers brush along the slick crease of your folds before parting your flesh, stroking over your entrance and up to your clit. His calloused touch on your sensitive bud made you exhale sharply, hips rocking down into his hand. Encouraged by the reaction, Jacob pressed his palm up against your cunt, cupping you with his hand as he slid two long fingers into your body. He caught the tremulous cry you let out with his lips, cradling the back of your head with his free hand to keep you close as he curled his fingers within you in a steady, come hither motion.

“ _Jacob_ ,” you whimpered feverishly, panting against his lips with one hand clutching at his hair while the other splayed against the headboard for leverage. The lewd, wet sound of his fingers moving inside of you, withdrawing and plunging back inside of your slick flesh, made heat creep up your neck. You could feel your wetness already seeping down your thighs and knew that Jacob’s fingers and hand were likely soaked. The dark, hungry look in his eyes as he held your gaze was all the reassurance you needed that he loved it, though, and you tightened purposefully around his fingers in turn.

The insistent rhythm of his fingertips against that raised spot within you combined with the grind of his palm on your clit was devastating. The muscles in your belly and thighs tightened and tightened, quivering after only a few minutes with anticipation. Your breath came in harsh gasps and you tugged Jacob’s hair, not sure if you were pleading for mercy or more. Regardless of how fitful you were, Jacob did not relent. He groaned and kissed you hard, sucking on your lip before ducking his head and taking the flushed peak of your nipple into his mouth, biting enough to sting. The heat of his mouth and the eagerness of his actions felt as if he wanted nothing more than to devour you.

 _I want him to devour me._ You thought in a fractured, dizzy rush as you leaned your head back and closed your eyes.

Your breath halted in your chest suddenly, body trembling and muscles drawn tight and every curl of Jacob’s fingers coaxed a hot rush of fluid to gush from you. Jacob groaned in approval as he released your nipple, nuzzling against your chest as he worked his fingers relentlessly, demanding that you give him as much as you could bear. When it became too much and the press of his hand on you made you sob out a breath and jerk your hips upward, Jacob crooned soothingly and withdrew his hand.

“You’re so lovely,” he sighed, hands stroking over your back as you melted in against his chest and nuzzled into his unhurt shoulder. “I missed you so much. More than I could stand.”

A quiet mewling sound caught in your throat at his words and you shifted upon his lap, mouthing up the column of his throat. The line of his cock pressed flush to your cunt sent a thrill up your spine and you pushed yourself upright, licking your lips as you rolled your pelvis to grind yourself against him.

“I missed you,” you replied in a hushed voice, brows furrowing in concentration as you rocked in his lap. Jacob’s hand moving down between your bodies made you pause, and when he curled his fingers around himself and ran the head of his cock over your clit, you dropped all pretense of teasing and canted your hips to allow him to slide into you in one long, slow downward press of your body.

The stretch of him inside of you was more than you remembered, earning a series of frantic little whimpers as you tipped your head back to gasp for breath. Your hands sought purchase anywhere that you could find, one curled on Jacob’s shoulder while the other gripped the top edge of the headboard.

You wanted to be patient. To savor finally having Jacob back, having him here with you. Being able to share pleasure with him. But when you looked down at him and saw how breathless and disheveled and overwhelmed he was by the clutch your body around him, the fierce longing that you had buried roared back to life. Using the steady leverage of the headboard, you wasted no time in picking up a steady, sinful rolling motion of your hips that, paired with purposeful clenching of your cunt made Jacob swear thickly. His hands were heavy on your hip and thigh, both gripping with bruising force as he clung to you and pleaded, soft and desperate, for more. And who were you to deny him anything, after all that he had suffered?

Leaning into the headboard for more balance, you gave up the slow grind on Jacob’s lap in favor of lifting yourself up, up until only the head of his cock remained inside before you slid back downward again. The pace began slow, just to get the angle right, and then you caught Jacob’s lips in a fierce kiss as you fucked yourself on him. The low, ragged noises that it pulled from his chest were all you needed to hear to know that he enjoyed the change. Before long the room was filled with the sound of your skin meeting his, the wetness of your cunt on his cock, and low, feverish swearing from the pair of you.

A slight shift beneath you as Jacob suddenly wound a hand into your hair and pulled your head forward until his forehead rested against yours was all the warning you received before Jacob was rutting up into you, feet braced on the bed to devastating effect. Every inward thrust spread you open mercilessly as he took and took, claimed what was his. Your voice turned into a thin, shredded thing as you cried his name and that familiar knotting tension began to build low in your belly, your breath taking on a frantic edge. The only consolation you had was that Jacob was faring far worse, biting his lip and gazing at you fitfully, his body tight and straining towards release even as he tried to hold himself back again for your own pleasure.

“Don’t...don’t wait. I want to see you,” you whispered to him, kissing him once on the lips and leaning your forehead to his so that he had nowhere else to look but into your eyes. “Give it to me.”

“Oh, darling—” Jacob choked out, and you barely had time to gasp _Yes, go on_ before he went rigid beneath you, head thudding against the headboard behind him with his face tight in pleasure. The sudden heat and stickiness of his release made you moan, loud and pleased as you rode him through it. Already poised upon the edge of climax, you weren’t worried that he had reached his end. Instead you grabbed his hand from its bruising grip on your thigh and shoved it between your legs and, without a word edgewise, Jacob rubbed the pad of his thumb over your clit.

However, the final little nudge that sent you toppling into your orgasm was Jacob sliding his other hand up, up over the swell of your breasts to curl around your throat. Not to choke you, but to hold you in place while he kissed at the curve of your ear and breathed a low, earnest _I love you_.

“Jacob... _Jacob_!”

You hadn’t meant to wail his name but it was too much, feeling him inside of you and around you, hearing his voice and tasting his lips after so long without. After having it all nearly taken away. The strength of your release was terrifying, unyielding as it bowled you over and left you spasming, muscles tight and gripping at Jacob as he worked you through it. The heat in your belly had exploded, diffusing through you from your toes to your face, nerves scorched and overwhelmed. Each wave of pleasure pulled another sob, whimper, cry from you until they lessened, taking your voice and breath with them. What was left, you hollow and sweaty and teary eyed, Jacob gathered into his chest and held tenderly, offering whispered praise and reassurances that only flayed you open more until you were laid bare for him, face buried in his shoulder as you wept.

In the morning light, however, when you awoke to Jacob idly stroking your hair as he cradled you, there were no tears. Only sleepy, satisfied kisses and murmured affirmations of what you two already knew and would always know until your dying days.

 

Though you weren’t sure if believing so was a ridiculous way of stroking your own ego, the weeks following your renewed intimacy with Jacob left your husband in a much lighter state. He began making habit of rising early again to join you for breakfast before seeing to the Initiates under his guidance or herding the children upstairs to their lessons and training. 

And train they did. Not just Emmett, who was beyond eager to resume light sparring with his father until he tired and Evie or yourself took over, but Alma as well. Making good upon his parting promise to his daughter, Jacob took her aside one day and allowed her to claim one of his old caneswords for herself. Though you did your best not to make her nervous as she finally chose a cane topped with a sterling horse head, the significance of the occasion was not lost upon you, nor Evie and Emmett as they watched sidelong from across the room while they practiced knife fighting. The delight upon Alma's face as Jacob had then guided her to the sparring floor, not as his child but as a future Initiate, made your heart ache with fondness. Though she was small in comparison to Jacob and utterly out of her element, her stormy determination as her father patiently guided her through basic footwork and defensive moves with her cane was a sight to behold.

And, to his credit as a Master and parent, Jacob was nearly successful at hiding his amusement when he cracked her across the knuckles a bit too hard and made her spit a curse word at him.

 

Despite all of the progress that he had made with his fears and how well his body had healed, Jacob was yet again forced to face another bitter reality just a few days before the end of January. It was one that you had begun to anticipate but hadn’t the heart to remind him about. Not until you absolutely had to. Unfortunately, Evie beat you to it.

It was a brisk day, though the flurries of snow had blessedly let up enough to permit the children to indulge in their favorite winter activity — ice skating. Evie, who had been away from the cold of a London winter for so long, was also excited to take part with her niece and nephew. She even went so far as to run out that morning and buy a pair of skates and a woolen scarf to wrap about her neck like a fuzzy constrictor.

The carriage ride to the frozen pond in St. James’ Park was slow given the mess of snow and ice on the roads, but the children were blessedly distracted by themselves and their aunt. Jacob, on the other hand, was peering furtively about from beneath his hat brim at passersby where he sat at the reins. As you began to cross the Thames, if suddenly hit you that this was the furthest Jacob had been from the manor since Evie had rescued him. Still, he didn’t look particularly tense. More thoughtful and simply observing things happening around him, taking in the city as if to check that things hadn’t changed for the worse while he had been cooped up.

St. James’ Park was teeming with others, children and adults alike, who had all had the same idea to enjoy the break in the snow showers. Thankfully not all of them were equipped to venture out onto the pond and so Emmett and Alma quickly donned their skates, tottered to the ice on wobbly legs before zipping off into the crowd, calling teasingly for their aunt to catch up.

“I’m only giving you two a head start because we’re family!” She called after them, shaking her head fondly as she went about swapping her boots for her own skates. When Jacob sat beside her on the bench, she nudged him in the ribs and grinned. “Remember when you bruised your tailbone while we were ice skating on the old mill pond back in Crawley?”

“That never happened.”

“No?”

“ _No_ ,” Jacob harrumphed, but his expression hinted that he recalled it in vivid detail. You couldn’t help but let out a giggling _Poor darling_ , nuzzling into your husband’s neck and sliding an arm around his lower back. Evie pulled an ugly face at him, which he readily returned as she too turned and went to the ice, gliding off with easy pushes of her legs.

“Sodding showoff,” Jacob muttered as he leaned his head against your own, but then a moment later his tone turned more sheepish as he added: “I couldn’t sit down for a fortnight. It was dreadful.”

A warm, fond laugh echoed in your throat as Jacob hauled you a little closer, and the pair of you went quiet, content to watch the crowd and enjoy the rare winter sunshine.

When Evie returned some time later, her nose red and a little out of breath from chasing the children up and down the length of the pond, she took a seat beside you and smiled.

“Your children are delightful,” she said as she loosened her scarf a little. “Emmett reminds me so much of you, Jacob. It’s frightening. And Alma...her tongue is as sharp as her mind. She reminds me of my Gita.”

“You’re simply envious of my boy. It’s quite all right to admit,” Jacob replied with teasing haughtiness. Evie rolled her eyes and sighed, but then her light expression faltered a little as she looked from her brother to you and back again.

"That does bring me to something I need to tell you both. Henry wrote to me and said that my children miss me very much and...I must say that my heart has been aching to see their faces again. I know that you would not want it to happen so soon, dear brother, but I purchased a ticket back to India this morning," Evie said at last, voice gentle yet somehow very final. "I'll depart on the twenty fifth of February."

Though you were caught off guard by this news, your surprise was short lived. Evie had been in England for nigh three months. It would be closer to four by the time she left. You certainly hadn't expected her to remain there forever. Not with her husband and children so far away, all of whom were missing her dearly.

"Do you need more coin to make the journey home? An escort?"

Evie gave a short laugh but she was not looking at you as you turned your head to face her. She was gazing out at the people still darting to and fro on the ice, attention flickering from one figure to the next until she found Emmett and Alma in the crowd. The siblings were darting to and fro, playfully tugging and shoving at each other, teetering on their skates and giggling despite the danger of falling.

"No. I have more than enough money to make it home and I do not plan to dally long in any of the ports along the way and risk trouble with rogue Templars. Thank you for offering, though, dear sister."

"Of course," you replied with a faint smile, which Evie mirrored when she did at last turn to meet your gaze.

Her attention upon you faltered after only a moment, though, and you saw her sober as she looked over your shoulder to where Jacob sat. He hadn't said anything, be it good or bad, and clearly Evie was troubled by his silence. Before she could call over to him, a singsong _Auntie Evie! Come skate with me some more!_ met yours ears as Alma slid by on her skates. Evie waved to her with a smile and nod, but still paused to look furtively at Jacob.

"Go on," you said with forced cheer, nudging her up from the bench. "Alma is having such a lovely time with you. We'll talk more later."

Sensing that perhaps you wished to speak with Jacob at length in private, she nodded and got to her feet. You watched her gingerly step on the blades of her skates to the edge of the pond and then set off at an easy glide across the ice to where her niece was waiting excitedly. Once they'd linked elbows and melded into the crowd, you turned your head to look at Jacob. He had the stiff collar of his coat turned upward in an effort to protect his neck from the cold, hat tugged low over his ears. You could still see his face, however, and he looked unhappy in a strange, absent sort of way.

"You know that she cannot stay here forever," you said gently to break the silence. As you did, you reached over to slip your hand into the pocket of his overcoat where one of his own was tucked away. He said nothing initially but did allow you to slot your fingers in between his own, which you took as permission to continue on. "It wouldn't be fair for us to keep her from Henry, would it? Or their children? I'm sure that her own Initiates are lost without her guidance as well."

“I know,” Jacob replied, voice far more soft than you had expected. “I know...I suppose it was always our fate to be separated but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t hate it. She’s all that I have left of my past...of my parents and my childhood.”

You knew he wasn’t looking for empty reassurances that he could see his sister whenever he wanted, or that they wouldn’t be apart for years and years as they already had been. Your lives often denied you the luxury of time to spend on things beyond the Assassin cause.

“Separation cannot undo the love of your sister. She would find a way to move Heaven and Earth if it meant protecting you. It will always be so.”

“Don’t...” Jacob muttered suddenly, looking down to his lap with his brows furrowed tightly with emotion.

Knowing that you’d prodded a place within him that was still too tender, you hummed soothingly and left it at that, giving his hand within yours a squeeze and leaning your head upon his shoulder. You were content to enjoy the silence until Evie or the children returned, yet after only some minutes a slow inhale of breath from your husband met your ears, and then he was speaking.

“I’d like to return to India one day, you know,” Jacob sighed beside you. You almost didn’t hear him over the sounds of the skates hissing on the ice and the crowd talking and laughing. When you turned your head to look at him, Jacob was at last looking at you, not guarded or sheepish but open, as if pleading for understanding. “I want to visit the temples and the jungles and feel the warm air. I want to see my nieces and nephews and Greenie. I want...I want to see you in our bed, lit by the sunrise like you were when we were young together, trying to have a child. I remember how perfect everything felt there. I miss it.”

“We can go any time you want to, love. We can leave with Evie and make a family adventure of it,” you said softly with a small smile, though it quickly faded as he shook his head and hummed.

“I can’t...Devil knows that I want to, but I can’t. Not now. We worked tirelessly to build our Brotherhood for twenty years. Now it’s in ruins and I’m hardly much better. I’ll be here until I’m an old man, making things right. I don’t believe I’ll ever leave England again.”

Jacob couldn’t have hurt you more if he’d physically struck you. He sounded more resigned than upset at the prospect of remaining in London until his dying day and it didn’t sit well with you at all. You wanted him to have hope for his future. To realize that he was still allowed to take pleasure in life and have fun and be happy. Perhaps it upset you more than you’d thought because your eyes were abruptly hot and wet with tears. Jacob’s brows furrowed in concern when he took note of your anguished expression.

“I don’t want that for you,” you said in a hushed, stricken voice. Your hand relinquished his and moved from within his coat pocket to settle upon his face, cradling his cheek. “I don’t want you to remain here until you’re old and tired and full of regret because you never let yourself do anything other than make amends for the things Jack did.”

Jacob looked like he wanted to protest for a moment, but then his expression softened and he reached for you, gathering you in and letting you tuck your face into the crook of his neck.

“It’s my burden to bear,” Jacob said softly against your hair. You jerked your head up to look at him fiercely, shaking your head.

“No. _No_. Not yours. _Ours_. If you believe for one second that I’ll leave you to carry all of this alone...Jack was my pupil as well. He was as near to a child as I had when I was a younger woman. I had just as much of a hand in his creation as you, you bloody stubborn clod.”

Jacob heaved a sigh but said nothing in argument. It was true, after all. Neither of you could claim sole responsibility or innocence. Just as with everything else, you had shared the task of training Jack. His development into an Assassin had been a result of your combined efforts.

“We do not work apart. Not ever again,” you added in a faint voice, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones. “I will be at your side to do whatever you cannot and we’ll rebuild our Brotherhood, but...we will also rebuild ourselves. Our family. You can’t forget that you have a son and a daughter who need their father. _Their father_. Not an Assassin riddled with guilt. Not a bitter Master to lord over them. They deserve to spend the rest of their youth in a joyous household. Not one shrouded in darkness.”

“I will not become my father,” Jacob said firmly.

“No,” you said at once in agreement. “No, you will not. You will continue to be the doting, loving father that I’ve never regretted bearing children for.”

Though you had never imagined that to be an outlandish thing to declare, Jacob was rendered speechless nevertheless as he gazed at you. Rather than wait for him to think of the right words to say in return, you simply smiled warmly and leaned in to kiss him, and the pair of you settled into silence once more.

 

The few remaining weeks until Evie’s departure went far, far too quickly. She herself seemed surprised when the day finally arrived, busy as she had been with helping her brother build a solid foundation to set the new London Brotherhood upon. You were beyond grateful for her aid, from choosing the final trials for Initiates to go through to be welcomed as Assassins to drawing up a new system of regulation and punishment for pupils who, like Jack, did not or could not follow the Creed to the detriment of themselves and the people around them. That had been a somewhat difficult process because you knew that, as a Master, you needed to show restraint and diplomacy when members of your fold needed to be corrected. Unjust punishment would only create resentment and resentment had been the cause of all of this, hadn’t it? However, another part of you knew that if a situation similar to that with Jack the Lad arose, there could only be one course of action. Evie, in the end, added a clause to the newly drafted disciplinary measures that would leave the decision of execution upon sentencing to a vote between all the Masters of the Brotherhood, rather than leaving the burden to only yourself or Jacob.

Most importantly, and kindly in your view, Evie sent off several letters bearing her name and status as Master in the Indian Brotherhood to secure Jacob and yourself new allies. You did not know what she had to say or promise them to have the arrangement come together successfully, but the look on Jacob’s face when she informed her brother that he would have more help arriving by the start of the summer seemed to be all that she needed by way of repayment.

 

The steamship Evie had acquired passage on was to depart from Brighton at midday, which meant leaving London early that morning on the train. Though everyone was doing their best to keep things pleasant, the reality that Evie was leaving and likely would not return for many, many years was a wet blanket over the entire affair. You sat with Jacob on the train while the children sat with their aunt a short distance away, which was for the best as Jacob was sullen and withdrawn.

Your arrival in Brighton was a mad dash to depart the train, find a carriage that could accommodate you all, and make it to the docks before the ship departed and left Evie stranded in England until she could find passage on another ship. The short trip was made difficult by the poor weather, ice and snow jamming up the roads with slow moving carriages, but you all made it with just enough time to spare to catch your breath from running along the docks to reach the correct ship. The steamship that would be taking Evie home, a massive iron beast with four stacks and three rows of portholes, sat heavy in the water as throngs of people bustled around it on the docks, loading cargo and luggage and lining up to board themselves.

“It looks dreadfully slow,” Emmett said as he eyed the great ship from beneath the brim of his top hat. “Is there no faster way to travel?”

“I wish there was,” Evie said with a tired laugh, momentarily distracted by a luggage boy offering to take her things which she politely declined. “But it is good time for resting and reflecting upon things, at the very least.”

“Assuming you’re not touched with mal de mer,” Jacob interjected with a wrinkle of his nose.

Evie grimaced and opened her mouth to reply, but the sudden bellowing of the steamship’s horn cut her off. The shrill ringing of a harbormaster bell followed, and you saw a small man in a crisp blue uniform step out from inside the ship to the top of the boarding ramp.

“Departure in ten minutes! I repeat, departure in ten minutes. Please see to your belongings and continue to board in a timely manner! Have your tickets in hand and ready to be presented!”

The warning call from the mustached seaman sent a pang of anxiousness through you. This was it, after spending the past few months together. Evie, who had turned to look up at the sound of the man’s voice, looked to Jacob with an utterly heartbroken expression that her weak smile could not mask.

“That’s me, I suppose.”

Jacob nodded, chewed his lip for a brief moment, and then reached for his sister at the same moment she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his broad figure. As reluctant as he had always been to say the sentiment out loud, in that moment Jacob clung to his sister as a younger sibling would to their eldest, seeking reassurance that things will be all right. He nestled his face in her shoulder for a moment and then lifted his head to rest his chin on her shoulder, where you could see the anguish on his face.

“Have fun,” Jacob finally managed in a breathless, wet voice as he clung to the back of Evie’s overcoat. His eyes were wide, distressed and helpless as he gazed out at the grey water of the vast ocean stretching to the horizon. You heard Evie laugh into her brother’s shoulder before she raised her head to look at him, hands shifting to grip at his face.

“Don’t die,” she replied waveringly, touching the corners of Jacob’s eyes with her thumbs and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I mean it.”

“I’ve done a fair job at it so far, haven’t I?”

Evie rolled her eyes but pecked her brother’s cheek again regardless, hugging him tight for a moment longer before she released him and backed away. She then turned to the children and held them each under one arm, kissing their cheeks and smiling in a comforting manner at their tight expressions.

“You two are going to become true credits to the name Assassin. Not just in London, but throughout our entire kind. I wish that I could be here to watch you progress,” she said with a faint frown, but it left as quickly as it came and she went on. “One day, when you are ready and can make the decision for yourselves, you may come to Amritsar to further your learning. I would love to have you amongst my pupils for a year or two.”

Both children looked positively elated at the prospect, which helped soften the blow when Evie gave them each a final hug and kiss before she strode over to you. The embrace you shared was much like the one given that night in the rain, when you arrived home from Crawley at her beckoning. Evie’s hands held fast to your overcoat as she squeezed you tight, and then she pulled back just enough to lean her forehead to yours.

“Watch over him. Love him. He needs it now more than ever.”

“I will. You have my word, dear sister. Please be safe as you travel home.”

“Thank you,” Evie whispered, earnest and heartfelt, and then you each kissed one another on the cheek before parting.

When Evie turned away and set off across the loading ramp, procuring her ticket as she went to hand to the doorman, you went to Jacob and wrapped your arms around him, leaning into his chest and holding him tight.

“I’m sorry, darling,” you said, kissing the base of his throat between the lapels of his heavy overcoat and sighing. You felt his chest rise and fall as he took a slow, deep breath, and then his arms were wrapped around you in return.

“It’s all right. She’s too brilliant to be kept here. Her Brotherhood needs her...her children need her. I understand that.”

Reasonable as his words were, the hurt in his voice was undeniable. You didn’t comment upon it, though, opting to snuggle into his chest and bask in the warmth of his body in contrast to the chill of the seaside winter until the last call for passengers had been made, the boarding doors had been closed and latched, and the stacks of the ship began belching out pillars of steam into the frigid sky. The children marveled at the spectacle, grinning and waving at the few passengers who had braved the cold to come on deck for one last farewell to friends and family on the pier. It wasn’t until the ship had finally begun the slow crawl out of the harbor and had put some distance between itself and your group that you stepped forward to reach for the children.

“Come along, now. We should get back to the station—”

“Oh, look! Auntie Evie made it out to wave to us!”

You did turn at Alma’s words, scanning the line of passengers along the railing of the ship but you failed to locate the other Frye twin. That is, until Jacob let out a delighted laugh behind you and reached to nudge your chin upward, guiding your eyes higher to the rigging of one of the ship’s masts. Sure enough, high up on one of the big timbers where no one would eve think to look for a passenger, Evie was sitting, casually as you please. When she was certain that the children had spotted her she raised a hand in farewell, and even from such a distance you were sure that she was smiling ear to ear.

 

It was evening by the time you returned home to London, thankful that the kitchen maid and cook had already prepared a hearty stew with dark bread and hot cider for dinner to fight off the cold that had seeped into your bones from a day of travel. The evening meal was a mostly quiet affair, all of you tired and still more than a little sad that Evie was no longer there. When the children had finished you excused them but also sent a maid along upstairs to prepare water for a bath for both of them before bed. That left only Jacob and you, and after a long stretch of silence you settled your hand atop his on the table and murmured his name.

“It’s been a trying day. Perhaps a bit of whiskey is in order tonight before we turn in, hmm?”

“I love you,” Jacob sighed, relieved at your suggestion as he rubbed his temples a little.

“I know,” you said with a soft smile, standing from the table and beckoning for him to follow.

You busied yourself with lighting the oil lamps about Jacob’s study as he opened up the liquor cabinet behind his desk, drawing out his favorite bottle along with two tumblers. The soft splash of liquid on glass met your ears as he poured your drinks, and you smiled your thanks a moment later when he came around to hand you one of them. For a second you studied the amber drink, swirling it a little, and then you spoke.

“What shall we toast to?”

Jacob, who had already raised his glass halfway to his mouth, paused with a raised brow.

“How about…” He hesitated, eyeing you as if trying to gauge how you’d respond to whatever he proposed. “How about to our family? Blood and otherwise.”

“I like it,” you said with a grin, stepping in and tapping your tumbler against his with a sharp clink. “To our family.”

“Blood and otherwise,” Jacob finished with a shy smile before he tipped his head back and drained his glass in two big swallows. When you raised a brow at him and looked pointedly at the empty tumbler, he shrugged and smiled a bit more wickedly, already reaching for the bottle on his desk. For a moment you thought about trying to give him a limit for his evening drink, but decided against it when you saw him take his second drink and sit down with a sigh, sipping it gingerly as he reached for the leather bound journal that he had been working towards filling for over a year. He was nearing the end of it, now, and you imagined he would have quite a lot to put down over the coming months as he found the time and words to explain everything he had gone through.

Despite your intentions to sit by the window and finish your whiskey and relax, you could not help but notice that the room was not as it had been left the last time you and Jacob had been there two evenings prior. The hearth, which held a few trinkets and items that Jacob wanted for one reason or another, had been adorned with a small box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with white string. The sight of it sent fresh panic through you; the last time an unwanted package had been found in your home, it had contained a truly gruesome gift.

“Jacob,” you said softly, setting your drink aside on the windowsill and rising from your chair. Your husband hummed in acknowledgement but did not look up from his writing until he had to pause to turn to a new page. When he saw you frowning at the box on the hearth, he got to his feet at once and rounded the desk. The pair of you approached the hearth with a bit of caution but when you saw a neatly folded letter atop it, tucked beneath the string and addressed to Jacob in familiar, neat writing, you felt your worry melt away.

“It’s only from Evie,” you said with a sheepish laugh. Jacob sighed and shook his head, muttering something along the lines of _bloody sister_ beneath his breath as he eased the letter free and shook it open, holding it so that the pair of you could read together.

 

_My dearest brother,_

_I will have already begun the voyage back to India when you read this, as I had wanted. I know that you are hurting at the idea of my departure for I am, too, but please do not despair for longer than you must. You have a beautiful family around you, lovely children and a strong, loyal wife. You are blessed in ways that other people only ever dream of being. Please know that despite our differences, and how far away from each other we are, you are my family. We have been together since before we entered this world and that cannot be diminished by time or distance. I love you. I will always return to your side in your hour of need. Never forget that._

_As for the contents of this package...it is only a few things that I thought that you would like to have returned to you._

_May the Creed guide you until we next meet._

_Evie_

“You have a truly wonderful sister,” you said softly as Jacob refolded the letter and set it atop the hearth. He nodded without a word and cleared his throat, reaching next for the package.

“Oi, It’s got a bit of weight to it,” he said in surprise, hefting it a little in his hands before reaching to pull the string loose, tossing it into the hearth dismissively. The paper crinkled and crunched as he tore at it next, falling around his feet in a tattered mess. Shifting the box so that he could lift the lid off with one hand, Jacob froze in place when he was greeted by the bronze sheen of a metal statue gleaming up at him in the firelight.

“It’s the Kali statuette we brought home from India,” you said in bewilderment, looking at Jacob with furrowed brows. “Why was this missing from our home?”

“I...well…” Jacob began, chewing his lip and sighing. “I took it with me when I went into hiding. It’s always reminded me of my sister, helped me try to think as she does...I’d forgotten that it was still in that little apartment.”

You made a soft noise and rubbed his shoulder for a moment before reaching to lift the goddess from her temporary bed. You turned her over to examine her fiercely carved face, smiling at the memory of Evie gifting her to the pair of you. Your attention was quickly stolen from her, though, as you saw Jacob reach into the bottom of the box and draw out a single square of what you thought to be paper as you turned to set the figure atop the mantle. It wasn’t until you returned to his side that you realize with a start that it was a photograph. Not just any photograph, either, but one of two that had been taken of you and Jacob, Henry and Evie...and little Jack the Lad at the Temple of Kali.

The shift in Jacob’s demeanor was palpable, the tension in the air around him so thick it could’ve been cut with a blade. His fingers curled a little around the picture and he made a soft, shaken noise before hastily handing it off to you. You opened your mouth, worried, but Jacob did not go far. He simply stalked over to his desk and snatched up his drink, downing it and slamming the glass back down beside his inkwell. With his back to you, you could not read his expression but the hard line of his shoulders as he braced his hands on the edge of his desk spoke volumes.

“I never wanted to see him again,” Jacob ground out. “Why would Evie give that back to me?”

“I don’t know,” you replied softly, looking down at the picture in your hands with a sigh. You did not enjoy looking upon the young face of the man who had met his end at the hands of the woman beside him in the photograph just months ago. Apart from Jack, though...you were helpless against the faint smile that crept onto your lips as you studied the other Assassins. It was hard to believe that all of you had been that young, once.

You opened your mouth to say as much but in a flash the photograph was out of your fingers and held within Jacob’s. For a beat you thought that he was simply playing with you, but then you looked up into his face and saw nothing but deep, pained anger. When his hands grasped the picture in a way that clearly gave away his intent, you cried his name and shook your head.

“Don’t!” You said fervently, taking a few panicked steps forward before you knew what you were doing. Jacob seemed taken aback at the protest and paused, brows furrowed as he glowered.

“ _Don't_? Why would I want this?” Jacob seethed lowly, face twisted with venomous disdain as he shook the photograph a little. “A picture of him? Of that bloody monster?”

“I understand why you want to destroy it. Believe me, _I understand_ ,” you said fervently as you stepped in close, your hands coming up to gently encircle his wrists. The dark emotion in his gaze held strong for several moments as you peered upward in earnest into his face, but when you breathed his name waveringly you saw his anger falter.

“Please...Jacob, I’ll only ask you once. Please don’t get rid of this. We have so few pictures from our youth and even fewer of all of us together and happy…”

Despite your best efforts to address the matter as calmly and rationally as you could, it hurt to see Jacob so ready to destroy a piece of your history together. It hurt more than you could have ever anticipated, and the heat of tears in your eyes startled you as much as it did your husband.

“Darling...here, now. It’s all right,” he said as he carefully shook your hands from his wrists. You watched him, throat tight and teeth biting the inside of your cheek to contain yourself, as he placed the picture upon his desk before he reached for you. The sudden onslaught of emotion had caught you entirely unprepared and so you were grateful to have a moment to gather yourself as Jacob held you in against his chest.

“I’m sorry. It’s such a ridiculous thing to be upset about—”

“No,” Jacob hushed you softly, his hand stroking over the back of your head and down to rest on the nape of your neck. “I shouldn’t have been so eager to get rid of it. You’re right. We don’t have much left of our youth together by way of photographs.”

He sounded genuine and deeply apologetic for causing you such distress and you raised your face at once, seeking a kiss which he dutifully gave, holding you so close that you went up onto your toes. It made you giggle, breaking the tension, and Jacob seemed pleased by the fact.

“Thank you for being reasonable and level headed when I fail to do so myself,” he added after a moment, releasing you as he did and turning to take the photograph up in hand once more. You watched him closely as he turned and went to the hearth, reaching up onto the mantle and gingerly propping the photo against the pedestal that Kali stood upon. When he remained there, studying the picture in silence, you moved to join him, sliding an arm around his middle to draw him close.

“Where do the years go?” 

Jacob asked faintly without looking at you, brows slightly furrowed as he studied the picture. You couldn’t tell what was going on in his head, if he was brooding over the sight of little Jack the Lad or simply thinking about how very long ago it had been when you had all been together. For a beat you weren’t sure what to say as you gazed at yourself, then Evie and Henry before settling upon Jacob with his hands folded atop his cane, looking young and cocksure as ever with you on his arm and the rescued boy standing before him.

“I don’t know, love,” you finally replied, turning your head to look up at Jacob as he did the same. The serious expression on his face faltered when you smiled wistfully and reached up to touch the smile lines by his lips, then the crow’s feet at his eyes. “I cannot say I’ve minded seeing them go, regardless.”

A low, aching, utterly fond sound echoed in Jacob’s throat and he turned towards you fully, taking your face into his hands and claiming your lips in a tender, sweet kiss that went on and on until the study door flung open and shattered the warm silence. Twin noises of theatrical disgust followed immediately and you turned with a laugh to see Emmett and Alma in the doorway, mollified and shaking their heads, dressed in pajamas with their hair damp and combed out neatly.

“Oh? Kisses are disgusting, are they?” Jacob asked in a playful growl, and then he lunged toward the children who nigh screamed and bowled each other over in their effort to get away. In only a few seconds the three were gone, though you could track them easily through the house until a shrill, delighted shriek from Alma signalled that the chase was over and that Jacob had prevailed.

The chorus of laughter from the children and from Jacob beckoned you and you turned toward the door, but something in the happy sound made you pause and turn to look back over your shoulder at the picture. In the photo, Jack the Lad’s grave, chilly veneer had been replaced with a rare smile.

_If he had been born to someone else, anywhere else...perhaps he would have had a fighting chance._

The knot in your throat appeared abruptly and you felt for the loss of the bright, beaming boy in the photo. But the feelings went as quickly as they came, and you gave in to the joyous sounds drifting up from downstairs and followed after your family, closing the study door behind you with an air of finality.

 

 

With the arrival of June came, as Evie had promised, a group of Assassins from America. Some young, some seasoned Masters, but all ready and willing to aid you in your task of taking hold of London once more. In the few months that had passed since Evie had departed, Templars had already found ways to enter the city. Most remained in Whitechapel where it was easier to hide amongst the dregs that still lingered in the wake of Jack the Ripper, but some of the more bold had taken up residence in a small block of The Strand. The nearness of it to the Palace was cause for mild concern, and so the arrival of aid was openly appreciated. The only thing that had been left to do was to introduce the temporary residents to Abberline and Her Majesty and ensure them both that with the new help, the Templars and their schemes would be closely watched and, eventually, snuffed out.

Naturally, however, when the day arrived for the meeting to take place, nothing went as it usually would have.

It was a mild summer day outside, but inside the confines of the omnibus where you sat it was sweltering. On top of that, you could feel the resigned irritation of the other passengers crammed in around you at having to be stuck in such an unpleasant situation. A young, willowy woman with a fussy babe in her arms sat in the corner, unaware of the unhappy looks being cast her way by a man who seemed to have spent the night previous in a gutter with a bottle of cheap gin. On your immediate left sat a man who smelled of cigar smoke reading a newspaper and on your right a rather hennish, scandalized looking woman who had been eyeing the mechanism for your blade upon your wrist for several minutes. When you turned your head just enough to make eye contact with her, your brow arching in a daring manner, she made a quietly affronted sound and looked away out the back window of the compartment.

The conditions were far from ideal, but there was a method to your public transportation madness. You had been pursued rather doggedly since you had left your home that morning and utilizing the omnibus as cover gave you opportunity to regroup, focus, and think of what the next best move would be.

_I must reach the leap beside the Palace by noon to be successful. That gives me twenty minutes. The most direct route from here would be to hop off at the market and cut through St. James’ Park—_

The omnibus jolting over a rough patch of cobblestones jerked you back to the present. Or, you had assumed it was caused by the shoddy road until you heard a man in the seating atop the carriage cry out in alarm with _What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?_

You were on your feet before the carriage had even come to a full stop, hand diving into your pocket to withdraw three smoke bombs. The first you threw as soon as you had the compartment door open, causing the occupants of the omnibus to shriek and curse in fright. The horse pulling the carriage directly behind began to rear and whinny, triggering more commotion from surrounding steeds. The second bomb you deployed halfway across the road to obscure yourself from view via the omnibus. Despite the chaos on the street below, you could hear the pounding of pursuing footfalls behind yourself and as you began the quick ascent up the front of an auction house with your rope dart, the bump of a foiled grasp at your ankle made your heart leap into your throat. The final bomb in your hand was thrown upon the rooftop as soon as your feet made contact with the shingles. Knowing that you had precious little time to flee or hide, you clambered down the other side of the building and swung up underneath a rickety, wooden walkway leftover from construction some time ago.

It only took a few seconds for your pursuer to appear, though from where you lay in wait you could only hear them as they strode along the rooftop above you. Their footfalls were slow and methodical and you knew they were examining the landscape, trying to judge where you would have most likely gone. You breath went shallow and quiet, tip of your tongue caught between your teeth as you braced yourself between a wooden support beam and the brickwork of the building. Finally, after what seemed an age, you watched as the stout, darkly clothed figure retreated in the opposite direction and leapt down from the rooftop to a thick tree branch, then swung down to the ground and sprinted out of sight. You let out a heavy breath and allowed yourself to drop from your hiding place, hitting the ground and rolling twice before you got to your feet and took off at a brisk clip.

The park was easily navigated but after the close brush with your pursuer you were on your guard, eyes scanning every group of people as you approached, every shady spot beneath a tree and up into their tangled branches for signs of an ambush. When you reached the other side of the park unassailed you felt emboldened and pressed onward to the corner pub, scaling up the front of it with ease despite the fatigue that had begun to set into your muscles. There was no time to slow down and catch your breath. Your pursuer was surely near at hand but you were confident that you would best them. You were a Master, after all.

If you could reach the high parapet and make your leap, it would only take a handful of seconds to cross the square and climb over the tall, iron fence around the palace grounds. The solid brickwork of the sheer wall you were sprinting toward gave no hand or footholds and so you reached for the narrow ledge of a boarded over window, using your momentum to leap upward to snag the very edge of the roof above. There was no one in sight when you hoisted yourself up fully and you made a mad dash for the far end where you knew the leap point had been established by the Brotherhood. A sense of elation at making it on time and unaccosted swelled in your breast. However, between your measured, hard breaths and the noise of your boots on the rooftop, you did not hear the approach of your rival until they appeared, quite suddenly, vaulting up over the parapet and landing hard directly in your path, large and foreboding. 

You slid to a stop only a short distance away, chest heaving as you flexed your fingers at your sides in absent agitation. The muscle in your forearm went tight, ready to flex and trigger your hidden blade at a moment’s notice and you spoke tightly through a glower. 

“Move.” 

“No,” came a low, smooth voice as they stepped towards you, head lowering so that they could sweep a hand up to push back the large, dark hood obscuring their features. The utterly devious, teasing grin on Jacob’s face when he looked back up at you made you growl inwardly. 

“We set the terms of the chase and I’ve reached the leap point _first_ —” 

“I rather think it was a draw, _actually_ , but I’m not such a sore loser as yo—” 

You were already lunging for him before he had gotten out the last word, and the swing of your cane sword as you jerked it free from your coat made his eyes go comically wide as he ducked to miss the walloping. You wouldn’t unsheathe the blade, of course. He wasn’t an enemy. But the entire purpose of the mock hunt had been to help Jacob hone his skills, mentally and physically. If he couldn’t be ready for a sudden fight on top of a long chase, then his rehabilitation would need to continue before he could comfortably resume running missions.

The ferocity and quickness with which he countered your attack was admirable, his own cane coming out to crash against yours as you blocked the blow meant for your face. The impact rattled your arms and made you grit your teeth, and you pivoted on one foot, allowing his own momentum to carry him past you so that you could catch him across the back of the legs with the solid brass head of your weapon. A yelped curse left his lips and you grinned wolfishly in spite of yourself, trying to sober again before he turned to look at you. You weren’t successful, the sight of your amusement spurring him to launch another assault. He was not slow by any means of the imagination, though he was not as quick as you but, Devil, he was strong and merciless with his blows. Blocking them soon became the only option you had as he backed you up closer and closer to the parapet. 

It was only when he swung at you with the cane and over extended, just far enough to give you an opening, that you lashed out with your foot and planted your heel in his solar plexus. He staggered, wheezing a little, but rather than backing up as you had expected, he caught you in an altogether graceless tackle that sent you both sprawling, canes clattering away in the mess as you toppled and rolled together. With the advantage of his weight he wound up atop you and, without thinking, you flexed your wrist and unsheathed your blade, darting your hand upward to hold him off and claim your victory.

Instead, you felt the razor edge of cold steel on your throat at the same moment your found a home against the line of the artery in Jacob’s own neck. It was a draw, after all. For a beat neither of you moved save for your heaving chests as you panted, eyes both prying and assessing of each other. Your husband’s face was red, his hair damp with sweat at his temples, expression a mire of ferocity and exhaustion. When you held fast without a word Jacob yielded, withdrawing his blade with a soft snick as he leaned down to kiss you, unmindful of your weapon at his throat. A tired, shaky sigh escaped you as you gingerly moved your blade away and retracted it, hands going to his hair and gripping lightly as you chased his lips with your own. 

“Well fought,” Jacob murmured after some length, pulling away to study your flushed face as he smiled. “Thank you for the chase. I needed the practice.” 

“My pleasure,” you replied through a smile of your own. “When was the last time we had a good hunt across London?” 

“At least a year ago, by my count. I’d forgotten what grand fun it is...well, apart from me losing to my Whippet of a wife.” 

“So I _did_ win, then.” 

Jacob opened his mouth as though to argue but after a pause he simply huffed a laugh through his nose and hung his head. The sight made you laugh aloud and give the back of his neck a fond squeeze as you nudged him to sit upright so that you could do the same. Your hand went to the breast pocket of your overcoat, withdrawing a cotton kerchief which you used to gently dab the sweat from Jacob’s temples, smoothing out his hair and freshening him up before you two appeared before Her Majesty. 

“What time is it?” You asked as you swept the kerchief over your own neck before refolding it and tucking it away. Jacob move to reach for his pocket watch and as he did you saw a brief flicker of discomfort, piquing your concern. 

“Ten minutes until noon by my watch.” 

You nodded and moved to sit on your knees before him, resting a hand upon his shoulder where you knew his scarred skin lay beneath his clothing. Jacob looked at you questioningly as you did so, brow arching slightly. 

“I saw you wince. Does it hurt after all the climbing we’ve done today?” 

“A little,” Jacob confessed, soft and thoughtful as he rolled his shoulder. “More from inactivity than actual injury, I suspect. I spent far too long sitting about at home.” 

You hummed, sympathetic, and pecked his lips before you got to your feet and pulled him up as well. Then you turned away and hopped up atop the parapet, striding along the edge of the rooftop with the ease of a cat crossing a fence. When you reached the corner of the rooftop you stepped up, gazing out in the direction of St. James’ Park. There was a pleasant breeze in the air at that height and you smiled to yourself, sighing at the feeling of it upon the warm nape of your neck. For a moment you closed your eyes and simply listened to the people milling in the street far below, flower merchants shouting on corners and horses whinnying as they trotted along. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“A city...our city,” you said quietly, opening your eyes but hardly moving when you felt Jacob step up beside you. “Our ever growing city. I sometimes find myself at a loss as to how we’re going to protect it. The world is changing so quickly...as are our enemies.” 

The feeling of Jacob’s hand closing around your own finally drew your attention away from the sprawl of London before you and back to him at your side. The look in his eyes, so sure and bright, reminded you so much of the young man you had met in the curio shop all those years ago. It made your heart ache with fondness. 

“Well, that’s fairly obviously, isn’t it? We’ll protect it together, as we always have,” he paused, then, and brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “And we will leave behind another generation stronger and smarter than we to face the new world.”

The answer, so simplistic and presented matter of factly, made you smile and nod. 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be so morose about our future here. We had five Initiates take the name Assassin just this spring alone and with all that have come from New York to help us, it will be no time at all before things are set back upon the proper course.”

“That’s the spirit! Five new members are excellent numbers,” Jacob replied cheerily. “And three of them were _your_ pupils, I might add. You’ve done bloody marvelous so far as Head of the Brotherhood. As I knew you would.”

You snorted at his smug tone but felt flattered all the same by the pride in his voice.

“You’re a soppy clod,” you accused, low and fond, and you felt Jacob’s chuckling as he leaned down to accept a kiss.

You could not enjoy the kiss for long. As you’d been expecting, the sudden gonging chime of the clock tower split the hush surrounding the pair of you and you turned from Jacob to face the palace. The fifth chime had only just faded out when, right on schedule, a police carriage rounded the corner and crossed the busy square, coming to a halt at the gates. A lone figure in a bowler hat stepped out and was flanked inside by two of the Queen’s guard. Ever punctual, Freddy was. Just behind the inspector came a second Rook carriage and six figures plus one upon the driver’s seat stepped out, hurrying inside without pause. The familiarity of their dress told you all you needed to know of their identities.

“Her Majesty is waiting.” 

Jacob speaking behind you pulled you from your musing. You hummed and nodded but remained in place, head tilting a little to let the sunlight warm your neck. When the comfortable weight of Jacob’s arms snaking around your waist came a moment later, you smiled to yourself. A soft ghosting of his breath over your ear and he leaned down to speak again made your belly flip flop.

“London is waiting.”

The did elicit a reaction, though it was only you turning on the spot and reaching for Jacob. You tucked your hands into his overcoat, sliding your arms around his middle and peering up in his face. The golden-green amalgam of his eyes was magnified by the sun beating upon his face, still as impossibly beautiful as ever. His curious, warm smile emphasized the laugh lines on his face, crow’s feet crinkling by his eyes. Under the brilliant sun you could see the beginnings of fine, silver strands streaking his dark hair at his temples.

Time was passing, you realized. Not with alarm but calm resignation. It always would be, and people and troubles would always be waiting, demanding your attention here and there at every inconvenient moment. There was nothing that you or Jacob or anyone could do to stop it, but...

“I think I’ll let it wait a little longer. Just this once,” you whispered into the sunshine between your lips and Jacob’s before closing the space between them.


End file.
